Sergeant Arc
by Doltish Dust
Summary: All Jaune Arc ever wanted to be was a hero. But when Ozpin gets wind that Jaune faked his transcripts and he is forced to leave Beacon, Jaune Arc must find another way to do so. That means joining the Valesian military as an army officer. However, darker forces are at play, and soon Jaune finds himself fighting not just for his own survival, but for that of his entire Kingdom.
1. Chapter 1 - A meeting with Ozpin

_"Bad things do happen in the world, like war, natural disaster, disease. But out of those situations always arise stories of ordinary people doing extraordinary things"_

 _Daryn Kagan_

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 **Chapter One – A meeting with Ozpin**

"I'm sorry Mr Arc, truly I am." Jaune hung his head in shame. Here he was. The end of the line. After all his desperate efforts to make it work, to try his hardest to blend in, just when he thought he may have gotten away with it, it came back like a Beowulf to bite him on his complacent arse.

"As you may be aware, I always try to give each and every one of my students the opportunity to prove themselves," continued Ozpin. "However, recently I have been made aware that you have had no formal training prior to Beacon. You faked your transcripts." Ozpin's unwavering gaze bore into Jaune. Somehow, he managed to sink into his chair even further.

He tried to hate Cardin, he really did. Even after everything he'd done to try to keep him silent. After what he'd done to his team for that bully. He'd still gone and ratted on him. He wanted to direct all his raw emotions at someone, anyone! Anything except letting them fester inside him like poison. But he knew exactly who's fault this was. The hatred that boiled inside his stomach like acid was solely directed inwards.

Ozpin sighed, and continued, "I am afraid I have judged the risks simply too great. This is no playground Mr Arc, nor do we live in a fairy tale. One mistake in our world can, and will, get you killed. You should have known this." Jaune's eyes burnt with barely held back tears.

"I am afraid," Ozpin said, with the voice of a man about to read out the execution order at a trial, "that I cannot, in good conscience, keep you on as a student at Beacon Mr Arc. It is with great regret, that I must ex—"

"Please professor Ozpin!" Jaune couldn't take it anymore. His whole body was clenched in frustration and misery. "I can't leave. I've got nowhere else to go, nothing else to do!"

"I believe," replied Ozpin, his voice impassive, "that you have a family waiting for you back in Ansel."

"You don't understand Ozpin!" Jaune cried. "My father was a hero. My grandfather was a hero. Even my great-grand father was a hero," he was begging now. Oum above he was actually begging. "I can't go back, knowing that I will be the first Arc in generations to not be a hero." Jaune slumped back in his seat, his grief draining him of all energy. "Please sir. I can't go back a failure."

Ozpin stared long and hard at Jaune. Jaune stared back, hoping, pleading to him with his eyes to let him stay, let him keep the dream alive.

Ozpin rose and moved to the window of his office, gazing out over Beacon. Jaune remained seated, his eyes glued to the headmaster's back, searching for some kind of sign of his internal thoughts. Ozpin remained like that for a few minutes. Jaune held his breath for most of it, desperate for an answer, yet despairing what it may be.

Finally, excruciatingly slowly, Ozpin turned, and walked back to his seat. Fear gripped Jaune in a death vice. He couldn't breathe.

"So, you want to be a hero, do you?"

Jaune was momentarily stunned by the unexpected question, but he stammered out a, "Y-yes. More than anything else in the world."

Ozpin hummed and leaned back in his chair, his eyes searching Jaune's for a moment longer, before, apparently satisfied with what he saw there, he stated simply "I am sorry Mr Arc, but Beacon is not the place for you. However, there may be another option." Jaune, half way down the never-ending tunnel of despair, froze. Was there some hope for him yet? Could it be that Ozpin—no. No, he wouldn't let hope go there. That would only make the let-down hurt even more.

"I would not normally recommend this to a student of mine, but I feel that this is a unique case. How would you feel about joining the military?"

The military? Jaune looked up at Ozpin to make sure he wasn't joking. His face was deadly serious. "The, the military? But… but I'm seventeen. I haven't had any training. I can't go to war."

"Your concerns won't be a problem Mr Arc. As I understand it, the Valesian military allows entrants from sixteen and only recently in fact, started a rearmament program. You will receive full training along with a number of other new recruits. As for war, I doubt you will have to worry about that. We are at a time of peace. I hope it remains that way for many years yet. The military is simply responsible for maintaining a reduced threat from Grimm around Vale where Hunters are unavailable, and occasionally doing so for smaller villages outside the kingdom. It can be uncomfortable at times, and the pay isn't as good as a huntsman, nor will your name be sung about in songs. But you will be helping people."

This was… insane. Jaune couldn't join the military. He was a kid! He'd never done so much as a day's hard work before Beacon. He was nothing more than a civilian in dress up, playing at being a huntsman. The life of an army man would be hard, painful, unforgiving. Not to mention the threat to his life, despite what Ozpin said. It was too much. He couldn't do it.

And yet…

What other choice did he have? Could he really return home? Yes. Of course he could. He loved his family, and they loved him. But could he live with the knowledge that they had been right when they had told him he was out of his depth at Beacon? Could he face their outward appearance of sympathy, whilst knowing that every time he turned his back they were sharing knowing glances? Their 'it's alright Jaune' and 'it doesn't mean anything Jaune' and 'you're still a hero in our eyes Jaune', all the while pretending that they knew what he was feeling when there was no way, no way they could possibly understand the pain and grief that would plague him every day if he went home now. Could he go back to his comfy life, knowing he had given up his dreams, just because the way had looked too hard?

No. No he couldn't. If he couldn't be a hero as a huntsman, then he'd become a hero another way. Jaune Arc, the army… person… thingy.

He'd need to work on that one.

And so, before Jaune's bravado could abandon him, he looked up at Ozpin and simply stated, "I'll do it."

"Wonderful," exclaimed Ozpin. "I'll get in touch with my contact in the military. I can have a bullhead ready to take you to the nearest military compound within the hour. You may use the time to pack and say goodbye to your friends."

Jaune's heart plummeted. "Only one hour? But that's not enough time," he cried.

"I am sorry Mr Arc, but I believe it will be easier this way. You may leave now."

Taking Ozpin's dismissal at face value, Jaune left the headmaster's office. As he miserably made his way back to his dorm, he noted all the insignificant things he had taken advantage of in Beacon. The things he would miss most. The amazing school meals. The beautiful gardens. The spacious library.

And his team. Most of all his team.

Jaune felt like he would be engulfed by the black hole that had formed in his heart. He ran the rest of the way to his dorm, which turned out to be empty; all his team were in lessons. Jaune wasn't sure whether that was a blessing or not.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, he was waiting on the bullhead launch pad. His fingers hovered over his scroll, typed out a message, deleted it, typed it out again, deleted it once more. He had no idea what to say to his team. How could he after what he'd done to them.

 _Cardin's cruel taunts and threats. The bottle in his hand. His arm raised, ready to throw._

Jaune squeezed his eyes shut. No, no, no. Not this. Not again. He didn't want to relive the fear, the regret, the self-loathing. But the guilt smashed into him like a flood, sweeping through him, overwhelming him, drowning him.

 _The jar, sailing through the air._ Ruby had told him he couldn't be a failure anymore. _The implosion on the girl he had the audacity to call partner, as if they were on a par._ For his team. _The look on her face when she sees him._ But he'd failed again. _First confusion. Then dawning realisation. Then hurt. He'd didn't stay to see what happened next._ He'd failed every day since he joined Beacon. _He ran. Ran like the coward he was. Ran and ran and ran and—_

Jaune's eyes snapped open, gasping. That had been just a day ago. He hadn't seen his team since. And now he would never get to see them again.

It was better like this, he tried to tell himself. He could accept if they hated him. If they never wanted to see his stupid, selfish, failure of a hide ever again.

The one thing he couldn't stand would be to see them hurt by his departure.

He didn't deserve that kind of love from them.

He thumbed through a short text to them just as the bullhead arrived. It was brief and factual, betraying none of the emotional turmoil Jaune felt at that moment, and simply stating that he was leaving Beacon and would be joining the military. Yet as the bullhead finished its pre-flight checks, and was lifting off the ground, Jaune spotted three small dots racing across the open front of Beacon towards the launch pad. A black-haired boy, a ginger girl, and sprinting in front, a flaming red-haired beauty. Jaune turned his head from the scene, and counted to twenty. When the urge to choke had passed and his eyes had stopped stinging, he looked back to see the tall spires of Beacon fading into the distance, leaving behind everything Jaune Arc had ever known.

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 **OK guys, that's the first chapter for you. This is the first time I'm going for a multiple chapter fanfic so I hope you guys enjoy it. If you did, make sure to follow the story and leave a review as those really encourage me to keep on writing, and if you didn't like it, then also leave a review and tell me I suck or something. If this story is received well, then I'm going to update this fic at least every two weeks. That's the deadline, but if people really like it I might speed it up.**

 **Again, thank you for reading and I'll see you next time for another chapter of Sergeant Arc.**


	2. Chapter 2 - Meet the squad

_"In war: Resolution. In defeat: Defiance. In victory: Magnanimity. In Peace: Good will"_

 _Winston Churchill_

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 **Chapter Two -** **Meet the squad**

The bullhead ride took a little over two hours. For once, Jaune's motion sickness held no sway over him, probably because his stomach was already churning with emotion. He'd called his family during the flight and told them where he was going and what he was doing. His parents had been less than impressed with him, but it wasn't so different from being a Huntsman, Jaune had reminded them, at least in terms of danger. He didn't mention why he'd been kicked out of Beacon, and they didn't ask. Probably assumed he just wasn't good enough for it. They weren't exactly wrong.

Finally, the airship closed in on a military compound. Looking out of the window, Jaune could make out towering walls of ugly barbed wire and twisted metal guarding the perimeter. Jaune's rational side told him they were to keep intruders out, but he couldn't help but feel like they were intended to keep the inhabitants in. Inside crouched drab, squat buildings which resembled slabs of concrete and two large fields. One was crisscrossed with all manner of barbed wire, wooden structures, tires, camo nets and skeletons of trees, all arrayed as if simply dumped there by the hand of a childish god tired of playing with his toys. The second appeared completely barren except for a menacing sign with a skull and cross bones daring anyone to attempt to enter it. Dominating the centre was a landing pad which the bullhead now eased onto. Gravel paths snaked away from it like grey veins.

The door to the passenger hold of the bullhead whirred open like a widening mouth, revealing Jaune's new home for the foreseeable future. Jaune picked up his bag of measly possessions and hesitantly moved towards the opening. He paused there for a brief moment, one foot hovering over the edge. If he took another step, he would be condemning himself to this life style. _"It isn't too late to turn back,"_ a treacherous voice whispered. It wasn't either. If he stepped back into the bullhead, he could return to Beacon with the pilot. He could tell Ozpin he wasn't up to it. That he wanted to go home instead. Was that so bad an idea?

Jaune began to retract his foot. Maybe this was—

"What the bloody hell are you waiting for you miserable dog!? Get your lousy arse down here NOW!"

Jaune leapt to attention and immediately complied with the deep, gravelly voice, such was the commanding power behind it. He jumped off the bullhead, sealing his fate, and ran to stand ramrod straight in front of the source of the bellowing. It came from a broad shouldered, bald man with a clipped moustache, wearing a pristinely maintained combat uniform. He was shorter than Jaune, but such was his commanding presence that he seemed to tower over the teen as he inspected him with a critical eye.

"You're the new recruit from Ozpin," the bear didn't ask so much as state, but Jaune nodded nonetheless. "Good man that Ozpin. Right then you pathetic worm. What's your name?"

"J-Jaune Arc," he stuttered.

"Well, 'J-Jaune Arc', welcome to the army, boy. As far as the military cares, you are now called Private Arc. Here it takes endurance, muscle, and an iron will to survive. None of that pussy-ass aura bull. Just an honest to Oum rifle, and a knack for not dying. Your personal shield ain't gonna get you far on its own. Got that? Good. You see this here?" He pointed to a piece of fabric attached to his chest. There were three lines sewed onto it, each one pinched down in the middle so they resembled bird wings. "This means I'm a Sergeant. You will refer to me as Sergeant Cole, or just Sarge. That means when I tell you to do something, you shut the hell up, and do it ten minutes ago. Got it? If I tell you to give me your gun, you do it. If I tell you to charge the enemy, you do it. If I tell you to unblock the toilet because Private Bounty got his hands on more of those Vacuan biscuits, you god damn do it. Understand?" Jaune nodded vigorously. "Good man." Unexpectedly, a wide grin suddenly split his menacing face and he slapped Jaune on the back hard enough to almost send him flying. "Stick to that number one rule, and we'll be good friends. That a sword on your belt?" He nodded at Crocea Mors on Jaune's hip. Jaune nodded, a sick feeling filling his stomach at the thought of having to part ways with the ancestral blade. "Keep it," barked Sergeant Cole, surprising him. "You're not the first nut job here to bring a fancy accessory to a gun fight." He laughed, taking the sting off the words. "Now come on you lazy son-of-a-gun, let's introduce you to the section."

Sergeant Cole set off at a brisk pace towards a rectangular, hunched building and Jaune attempted to follow, still standing as stiff as a spear. Sergeant Cole looked back at him and sighed.

"At ease Private."

"Sorry Sir," replied Jaune, relaxing only marginally, and retaining a composure of immense discomfort. Sergeant Cole sighed again, and continued towards his destination.

At the entrance of what Jaune assumed was the dorm, Sergeant Cole stopped and turned to face him. "Quick word of warning son. The rest of your section are… well they're all… they're an interesting bunch," he finally finished. "Most of them haven't been here more than a week, so you'll fit right in. Don't mind them if they seem a bit cold at first. Some of them are a right bunch of arses, but they've all got their sob stories. No one joins the army without a good reason." At this, he gave a knowing wink to Jaune, causing Jaune to redden slightly.

Sergeant Cole turned back to the rectangular building and flung the door open, revealing an equally dull and lifeless interior. High, narrow windows permitted slits of grey light to fall onto a dozen or so camp beds, all pushed against the walls to the sides of the room so that they made two rows stretching away from Jaune. Each bed supported a person. Next to the beds, large, blocky, metal lockers lorded over the room. Jaune doubted they were quite as high tech as the ones at Beacon, but at least he wouldn't have to worry about being blasted off in yet another rocket locker.

Sergeant Cole barked out what sounded like, "Room room 'tion!" and immediately, all the inhabitants of the room leapt to their feet and stood to attention at the foot of their beds. Sergeant Cole looked back at Jaune, a smug expression fixed on his face, as if he were personally responsible for their good training. The effect was somewhat ruined when Jaune spied a man stubbornly lying on the furthest bed.

"Corporal Ash," growled Sarge, "on your feet!" In what could only be described as mockingly slowly, the man called Ash swung himself off the bed, dropped his feet on the floor, and stood up. "When I enter the room, you stand to attention, Corporal."

"Yes _sir_ ," sneered Ash, raising his hand in a mock salute. Sarge looked like he was fit to explode, but he reigned in his anger with some effort and turned back to the others.

"This is the newest member of Beta Section. His name is Jaune Arc." Sarge's eyes roamed over the troops in the room. "Phil!" A tall man with messy matte black hair and wearing a red breastplate and arm guards, not dissimilar to his own, shot into the air as if electrified.

"Yes, Sarge?" he squeaked out.

"Show the rookie around. Teach him the basics. Make sure he doesn't run away."

"Yessir. Can do. I mean, I've got work to be doing. Lots of work. Very time-consuming work. Work which I really should be getting back to, but, never mind, sir. I'll do it another time. Don't know when, or how I'll find the time. But I'll do it. Or at least, I won't do it now. The work that it. Not what you said. I'll get onto that asap. Yep, no wasting time, it is go, go, go from here y'know? I mean, you told me to, so of course you know. That's not the point. The point is—"

"Put a sock in it, you slimy slug. Just take care of the newbie," and with that, Sarge gave Jaune one final nod, spun on his heel and marched out the room, barking out, "At ease!" as he did so. Immediately, life returned to the statues at the foot of the beds, with some of them retuning to lying down, some reading, some cleaning weapons, and more than a few just watching him intently. Jaune felt a sliver of anxiety at so many strangers staring at him.

"So, um, hi, I'm Phil. Short for Phillip. Obviously. Or not obviously, if you didn't know that. Don't worry if you didn't. The point is I'm Phil." A hand was thrust into Jaune's face to shake. Jaune was slightly bemused by the rapid, high pitched ramblings of Phil, but he nonetheless took the hand and shook it. Now that he had come closer, Jaune could see that Phil's breastplate was much more sophisticated than his own, made of a dull metal painted red and curved to match the contours of Phil's chest. Peeking out from under it rippled a dark, sturdy looking fabric, probably Kevlar. Whereas Jaune's was designed to deflect swords and spears, Phil's seemed ready to tank a punch from Yang with minimal effort. Though, to be fair, Jaune wasn't sure if the same could be said of its wearer. Yang's punches had a nasty tendency to introduce people to nearby walls, usually head first.

Phil seemed to take Jaune's handshake as an encouraging sign, and began to look a little less like a startled rabbit. "So, um, you're Jaune aren't you? Nice name Jaune. I like it. It sounds, um, nice?" Jaune couldn't help himself. He laughed. Despite everything that had happened, something about Phil's nervousness helped to put him at ease. At least he wasn't the only one struggling to stay afloat in this sea of madness.

Phil smiled at Jaune, a hesitant gesture, but which then became more genuine when he realised Jaune wasn't mocking him. "I should probably show you around a bit. Introduce you to the squad. That's what Sarge said. Alright then, follow me." And with that, he turned and strode to the first bed. Jaune hurried to catch up.

On the first bed sat a boy even younger than Jaune with shockingly purple hair parted to hang down over his right eye, whilst his left side was shaved short. "This is Buzz Victorian," Phil informed Jaune. At the sound of his name, Buzz looked up from the book he was reading, wide innocent eyes coming to meet Jaune's, and an easy grin overtook his features, as if he was used to smiling all day.

"Hi there," greeted Buzz. His voice was high and chirpy, and his brown eyes shone when he spoke.

"Hey," replied Jaune, unsure what else to say. He stood like that, staring at Buzz for what felt like a few minutes, the young boy's smile never once faltering.

Eventually Phil coughed awkwardly into his hand. "Err, we really should be getting on with the tour." Jaune leapt at the chance to escape an awkward situation, and as he hurried after Phil he saw Buzz waving goodbye to him as if nothing uncomfortable had just happened.

Weird kid.

"This is Buzz's older sister, Naomi Victorian." Naomi had a very similar hair style to Buzz, except hers was spikier, styled to hang over her left side instead of her right, and was a light blue colour. "She's the brains of the group. You know, who we go to if we have, like, a maths problem or something."

"To w _hom_ we go," corrected Naomi, grinning. She turned her gaze to Jaune and scrutinized him up and down. "Nice armour. Steel if I'm not mistaken. Leather straps. Likely won't stop a direct shot, but maybe you'll survive a glancing bullet. Sword. Old but well maintained. Looks like there's an emblem on it. Family heirloom I'd guess. Beyond useless in a gun fight. Trainers, hoodie and jeans. Hardly combat ready uniform. I'd say you either didn't know you'd be going to the army today or you have absolutely no idea what it entitles," Naomi shot Jaune a sly grin. "How did I do?"

"Uh…" Jaune's mouth plopped open like a fish at Naomi's exact description of him.

"I'll take that as pretty darn close," smirked Naomi.

"Don't mind her," advised Phil. "She does that to everyone at first. Still creeps me out."

The next bed along was occupied by a large, middle aged man with a shaggy black beard and a barely contained beer-belly. In a deep, raucous voice, he proudly informed Jaune that he was the legendary Bounty, devourer of dinners and terror of treats. Except Vacuan biscuits. Never Vacuan biscuits again.

Next came a near silent Faunus with a silver wolf tail and long black hair called Aiden Ires. He seemed friendly enough, if a bit unnerving, not least because his eyes were a deep red colour. He reminded Jaune of Ren slightly, but that hurt too much to think about, so he moved on to the next bed quickly.

Here lay a young woman wearing a white tank top, partly covered by a black leather jacket. On her feet were thick black boots which she flung on her bed with utter disregard for the mud which hitchhiked to them. Peculiarly, her right eye was blue whilst her left was green. She introduced herself as Cat Wentz. After their brief conversation, Jaune was left in no doubt where her foot would end up if he ever tried anything on her.

After Cat came a thin, lanky lad called Terry, who looked as if the slightest breeze might knock him over. Greasy blond hair framed a pale face, and his hands kept playing with each other, as if he wasn't sure what to do with them.

In the bed besides him sat a glum, dark skinned man called Finnegan Fletch according to Phil. He had a wisp of stubble clinging to his face and his eyes were sunken and guarded.

That made eight people so far. Phil, Buzz, Naomi, Bounty, Aiden, Cat, Terry and Finnegan, plus Sergeant Cole. Jaune already knew he was going to be struggling with names.

And finally, in the bed furthest from the door, sat cleaning a rifle, was the man Jaune had seen exercise such blatant disregard for Sarge's authority. He was the only other person wearing combat uniform except for Sarge, but whereas Sarge wore an immaculately kept shirt, this man wore just a beige vest. Muscles bulged from his exposed arms. His mouth was downturned, as if ready to transform into a sneer at any moment. His hair was shaved down to the skin and his grey eyes were hard as granite.

"That's Ash," whispered Phil, "he's been in the army longer than anyone here, even Sarge." Phil didn't look like he was about to approach him anytime soon, so it was left to Jaune to attempt to make an introduction.

Ash's eyes remained locked onto the rifle he was cleaning up until Jaune was standing right in front of him. Finally, his slate-grey eyes snapped up and locked onto Jaune's. "What?" he spat. Jaune, suddenly regretting his decision, looked to Phil for help, but the man was practically cowering under the intense gaze of Ash. No help from there then.

"H-hi. Ash, is it? I'm Jaune," he extended a hand for Ash to shake.

"I know your bloody name," Ash replied, going back to cleaning his rifle without a second glance at the protracted hand.

Ok then. "Well, I'm the new recruit." Ash muttered something under his breath that sounded worryingly like, "More bloody cannon fodder", but other than that he didn't react.

This wasn't working. Jaune began to squirm slightly, but he decided to give it one more try. His time here would likely be bad enough already without having someone who hated him as well.

"So, um, Phil tells me you've been in the army a while. I don't suppose you have any advice for me, huh?" The laughter that Jaune had planned to make died an ugly death as Ash's hands instantly stopped what they were doing and he slowly turned to face Jaune. Baleful eyes fixed Jaune to the spot and froze him there.

"You want some advice, huh?" Ash's tone made it very clear that Jaune really didn't. He noticed that the entire room had silenced, drawn to this confrontation like spectators to a gladiator fight. Damn him and his friendly conversation. "Ok then. Stay away from me. I don't need friends and I certainly don't need any dead baggage. At best you're a nuisance, at worst you'll drag me down with you. I've seen dozens of kids like you, thinking they're such hot shit. Brandishing delusions of winning glory on the battlefield, of saving the day, of returning home triumphantly to a hero's welcome." Each word was spat venomously at Jaune with unrestrained contempt. Jaune desperately wondered what he'd done to receive such hate, but he dared not interrupt Ash. "Well guess what? War's nothing like that. The real world's nothing like that. It's brutal. It's cold. It doesn't give a shit about you, or your _dreams_ ," he continued with a sneer. "And all those kids? They had to grow up pretty damn fast. It was either that or they ended up dead. I know people like you. Like all the naïve idiots in this room. I also know what happens to them. Believe me. When the guns start firing; half of you won't survive the week."

Jaune was stunned into silence. He tried to tell Ash that he wasn't like that. That he didn't join the army for those things. That he wasn't that ignorant.

And yet…

Wasn't that exactly why he'd wanted to be a huntsman? To win fame and fortune? To be something more than just the clumsy, anti-social Jaune Arc?

He wasn't like Ruby. Ruby wanted to be a huntress solely to help people. To protect those who couldn't protect themselves. Her goal was pure. Jaune's wasn't. Obviously, he wanted to help people if he could. But that wasn't the only, or even the main reason he'd wanted to be a huntsman. He'd done it to be a hero. To be someone important. Someone who people sung about in songs, who was praised and thanked by grateful civilians.

Maybe he _was_ as dumb as Ash was saying.

What did that mean for his future?

Jaune was left to mull over Ash's dark warning as Phil showed him to his bed and left him to unpack his things.

But before he went to sleep that evening, Jaune pulled out his scroll and stared long and hard at the numerous unread texts and missed calls. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his hands, so tight that the scroll in his grip almost snapped. Then, as soon as it had begun, he stopped, put his scroll on the side of his bed, rolled over in his sheets, and closed his eyes.

He would talk to them tomorrow.

It was a long time before the clenching in his stomach finally stopped. It was even longer before sleep overtook his mentally exhausted mind, and he drifted off to dream of dying.

* * *

 **And that is chapter two of Sergeant Arc for you guys. I'm uploading this a few days early because I don't want to try to compete with Volume 5 of the show (HYPE!). I'm not sure if you guys prefer slightly longer or slightly shorter chapters (leave a review to let me know) but this one feels incredibly long compared to the last one. That's mostly because of how many characters I had to write about. Nonetheless, I feel it's incredibly important to get the entire squad all down on paper so I can begin to play around with them. Four of these characters were very kindly offered to me by Chey Bradley on Facebook (Thanks!), one of them was an OC of mine before I decided to write this fic and the rest I made up specifically for this fic (have fun guessing which is which!).**

 **Thank you to everyone who followed or Favorited this fic, it means so much to me to see people are enjoying what I write. Leave a review telling me which characters you like or which you think need more development in future chapters. I'll see you all in two weeks for the next chapter!**


	3. Chapter 3 - The training begins

" _The more you sweat in peace, the less you bleed in war"_

 _Norman Schwarzkopf_

* * *

 **Chapter Three—The training begins**

"ROOM ROOM 'TION!" Jaune was yanked out of the sweet embrace of unconsciousness by the unholy screeching of a demonic entity. Jaune jerked up to see everyone else leaping to their feet, somehow unaffected by the ungodly hour Jaune knew it must be. He tried to ask what the hell was going on.

"Wuh, huh?"

Ok, maybe not the best line he'd ever had. By this time almost everyone else was already standing in front of their beds, but Jaune was still hopelessly tangled in his bed sheets, desperately wondering if this was some kind of nightmare.

"ON YOUR FEET MAGGOT!" A mountain of meat stomped over to Jaune's bed and, without warning, flipped the entire mattress over. Jaune experienced a feeling of momentary weightlessness, before gravity claimed its cruel revenge and yanked him to the floor. At least that solved the problem of being tangled in his sheets.

"Are you deaf, rat?! I said ON YOUR FEET!" Jaune scrambled to find his feet, rising to find Sergeant Cole's bald, angry face staring down at him, trim moustache twitching when he spoke. "When I say Room room 'tion, I expect you on your feet immediately, Private. Am I clear?"

"Uh… yuh?" What could he say? Jaune just wasn't an early morning person. Sergeant Cole didn't seem to find this a valid excuse.

"Well guess who just volunteered for extra laps this morning. Five times around the compound, Private, and if I see you lagging I'll be after you with a stick!" Jaune was forced to throw on some clothes and limp out the door to the sniggering of his comrades for a morning of torture he was sure was illegal under international law.

After the laps came a much needed breakfast, and then back outside to stand in front of one of the fields which Jaune had seen from the bullhead. It turned out to be an obstacle course, though with swathes of barbed wire, towering climbing frames and swamps of mud, Jaune was pretty sure its purpose was to kill them all. Before midday Jaune had run, jumped, and crawled more than he'd ever done in his entire life. By lunch he was bathed in mud, sweating like a pig and willing to ingest an entire horse. His only condolence was that he wasn't the only one who looked on the verge of death. The gruesome training through the hellscape had taken a toll on every member of the section with the except of Ash. That was due to a mixture of him being physically fitter, having more experience doing the course, and because he had jogged his way around most of it, ignoring the screams from Sarge with a determination that was truly commendable.

Jaune looked down the table he was seated at to the other members of his section. Bounty was bright red and still panting hard, shoveling food through his thick beard between breaths. Buzz had another grin plastered to his face, his purple hair limp with sweat. Aiden was sitting silently, as he had been the entire morning, his wolf tail absently flicking back and forth. Jaune was beginning to think that was his thing. Finnegan had been the slowest in the course, and had wanted to quit after the first obstacle. Sarge had quickly put an end to that, though Jaune suspected he may have been faking his exhaustion, because at that moment he was merrily tucking into his meal with far more energy than he had any right to have. The rest were in various states of exhaustion, limply munching on the gruel the army passed for nutrition.

After lunch Sarge rounded them up and marched them to a firing range. Jaune did the best he could to imitate the marching of Cat, but was managing to fail miserably. Cat noticed, smirked, and did nothing to help.

When they reached the firing range ( _"oh look,"_ thought Jaune, _"it's in_ another _concrete slab,"_ ) Jaune was shoved into line against one wall between the lanky Terry and the blue haired Naomi. On the opposite wall hung a target.

"Right you weak-legged pansies!" barked Sarge. "After this morning's lovely little warm up," at this, a chorus of groans went up, "it's now time to see which of you can shoot. Who's first? Lightning?" Jaune had absolutely no idea who Sarge was referring to, until Phillip nervously stepped forward. Must have been some kind of nickname.

"U-uh, me sir?" Phil stuttered, "I… I mean, I'll do it if I have to, but uh… could someone else go first? Maybe?" Clearly Phil wasn't comfortable being in the spot light.

"I'll do it sir!" chirped Terry excitedly. The look of relief on Phil's face was almost comic as he slipped back into line.

"This ought to be good," whispered Cat loudly.

Terry ran up to Sarge, his blond curtains bobbing, but as he stepped forward to take a shot, it became laughably apparent that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. Sarge sighed, and began dictating the motions to him. Terry listened with rapt attention, but when he took his first shot it went far too high. Nine shots later, Terry was at least hitting the target, but his shots were still going wide. He miserably returned the rifle to Sarge.

"Better luck next time sunshine. You need to pull the butt further into your shoulder."

"Yes Sir!" answered Terry, throwing a quick salute with far more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary, before scampering back to the end of the line.

"Kiss-ass," Jaune heard Bounty mutter.

"You're next squirt! Get your arse over here."

Jaune realised he was being addressed, and trudged over the Sarge. Once there, a rifle was dropped into his hands and he promptly staggered under its weight. Oum, it was heavy. He heard sniggers from behind him.

"Let's see what you've got, kid," Sarge encouraged, standing back and indicating the target at the other end of the room. Jaune hefted the weapon and took aim down the barrel. It felt horribly clumsy and unwieldy. Jaune was reminded why he'd only wanted a sword and shield to fight Grimm. Jaune held his breath and squeezed the trigger. Immediately a deafening explosion ripped through the air and the gun bucked in his hands, flying up and bashing him in the face.

The muffled giggling burst into raucous laughter, and even Sarge struggled to suppress a grin. Jaune's face burnt red.

"How can you even use a gun with that much recoil?" he protested.

"Technically it's a rifle," corrected Naomi. "The barrel's got the action of rifling, which causes the bullets to spin when they're fired, achieving a greater range and—"

"Stuff it Naomi," snapped Sarge. "Try again rookie. Put the rifle nice and snug into your shoulder, release your breath, and for heaven's sake don't rest your head right on the damn barrel!" Jaune tried again with Sarge's corrections, and this time the gun – sorry, rifle – didn't buck quite so hard, and the sound wasn't quite so ear-splitting. Jaune actually felt quite pleased when a small hole appeared on the edge of the target he was aiming for. Sarge clapped him on the back. "See. That wasn't so hard now was it rookie? Try it again."

* * *

After a few hours of target practise in which Jaune was introduced to rifles, shotguns and handguns (which Naomi had laboriously explained the differences between), plus a lengthy dinner in which Bounty burst into terrible singing, before being kicked silent by Cat, the squad was dismissed to return to their quarters. Aiden, the quiet, wolf Faunus had ended up being a better shot than any of them there, even Ash. When Phil finally had a go, he turned out to also be surprisingly good. Jaune was watching him now. He had some sort of strange device in his lap, which he was fiddling around with using a screw driver. It looked like a yellow cross with a handle connected to one side and an arrowhead shaped point on the other. Enclosed within the cross was a circular drum, from which protruded a hand crank. All in all the contraction was a little longer than a forearm. Jaune debated whether to ask him about it, then decided against it. He had his own problem to sort out.

With trembling hands, Jaune removed his scroll from his pocket. More unread texts. More missed phone calls. Once more, his fingers hovered over the keys, and once more they typed nothing out. Thoughts and emotions chased each other inside of him, creating a confusing soup of conflicting feelings. His head burned. His stomach boiled. His mouth filled with metallic saliva, but he found he couldn't swallow it. He wanted to spit, or be sick, he wasn't sure.

Jaune was saved by the entrance of Sergeant Cole. He leapt to his feet, his grievances momentarily forgotten, and was halfway to the foot of his bed when Sarge bellowed, "At ease, men!"

Jaune relaxed, then stiffened again when he saw Sarge advancing towards him. "Relax Arc," commanded Sarge, sitting down on the bed next to him. "I just wanted to check on you. Not everyone's cut out for the military lifestyle. How are you holding up?"

"Fine sir." Jaune winced at how weak that sounded, even to him, and more so when Sarge raised a bushy eyebrow. "OK, maybe not fine. It's a pretty rough lifestyle, and I didn't exactly have much time to adjust to it." At this, Sarge barked out a laugh.

"That's the army alright. It's sink or swim from here till retirement, believe me. What's that in your hand?" Sarge asked, indicating his scroll.

"Oh, that's just my scroll." Sarge rolled his eyes at that.

"I can see that. I mean why are you holding it? Were you talking to someone?"

"No sir, at least, not yet." Jaune was desperately uncomfortable with where this conversation was heading, so he decided to divert it. "If I may ask sir, why did you join the army?"

"Me?" replied Sarge, taken aback by the question. "I joined when I was a kid. Why though? Because I was young and full of energy. Because I was deeply patriotic, and wanted to do something for my kingdom. Because I was bored." Sarge shrugged. "It was a rash decision, and it almost cost me my life. But once I was in it, I found myself in love with this life. I tried leaving it countless times, but always found myself drawn back to it. I couldn't leave it even if I wanted to." At this, Sarge sighed. "Same with Ash over there." Jaune was surprised to hear this.

"Ash?" he asked. "Why does he love this life?"

"Oh, he doesn't love it," replied Sarge, grinning. "I'd say he hates it."

"Then why doesn't he leave?" asked Jaune, genuinely confused.

"Same as me. He can't." At this, Sarge's grin fell marginally. "Though for completely different reasons."

Jaune sensed he was treading on fragile ground here, but Sarge had caught his curiosity. The thought that there may be something more to Ash than the grouchy, cynical man who had told Jaune he was going to die was something Jaune couldn't let go of. "Why can't he leave?"

Sarge shrugged. "Well the military sure as hell ain't gonna kick him out. The Valesian army is pretty hard pressed for good, experienced soldiers, you know, and believe me, he's an excellent soldier when he puts a half-arse of effort into it. So despite his less than savoury attitude, the 'powers that be' just keep shifting him from section to section when the commanding officer gets sick of his shit."

"But if he hates it so much, why doesn't he just get up and go?" Jaune pressed.

Sarge sat back and seemed to consider whether to answer Jaune, one hand coming up to scratch his bald head, before appearing to decide to hell with it. "He can't leave cause he's got nothing to go back to. No family. No friends. The army's all he can remember. It's all he knows. If he tried to go back to society, he'd be lost. At least in the military he knows his place, what he's expected to do, and what he can expect of others."

Jaune digested what Sarge had told him. Nothing to go back to? That was… actually pretty sad. Jaune would never previously have tied that emotion to the rock hard exterior of Ash, but maybe there was more to him than he was letting show. "But why is he so… you know… a…"

"Why's he such a cynical, anti-social arse?" Sarge laughed mirthlessly. "You have no idea what he's been through. It's the only reason I put up with his bullcrap, when had it come from anyone else I'd have shot them myself." All laughter had fled Sarge's voice now. He paused again before continuing, as if he was figuring out how best to put his next words. "When you spend enough time in a regiment, when you bleed for the man on your left, and the man on your right dies for you, bonds are formed. Bonds deeper than family. Ash had a regiment like that once. He'd have done anything for the other men and women in his group, and no doubt they'd have done the same. He was, can you believe it, actually happy." Sarge sighed deeply before going on.

"Then, a few years ago, Ash and his squad were sent on a reconnaissance patrol into a forest. Intel claimed the forest was mostly empty, and that it should be a cakewalk. Intel was wrong. Ash and his men were ambushed by some very well-equipped, and more importantly, well-led bandits. It was a bloodbath. They slaughtered every single person in his group. He'd have died too, if it wasn't for his best mate lying over his body, so that when the bandits walked over them, ensuring they were all dead, they missed Ash. That poor bastard had to trek all the way back to base covered in his best bud's blood. Never been the same since. The army failed him by supplying his section with faulty intelligence. Then when he tried to retire, society failed him. I guess he just got sick and tired of getting failed by everyone."

Jaune was shocked into silence by the tragic story Sarge had recounted. He looked over at Ash's harsh face and cold eyes with a new found pity. He couldn't possibly imagine how he would be feeling if something like that had happened to him. It was a testament to how strong Ash was that he hadn't cracked and gone insane. No wonder he didn't want any friends. Jaune still had one more question though.

"How do you know so much about him?"

"I make it my business to know everything I can about the men in my section. Allows me to better judge what they can do. That's how I know Finnegan doesn't want to be here. That's how I know Terry is trying to suck up to me. And that's how I know you're trying desperately not to talk to your friends back in Beacon."

Jaune stared at Sarge, his mouth framing a perfect O. Sarge smiled. "He's a good man, that Ozpin." And then, with an amount of tenderness Jaune hadn't expected possible from such a gruff man like Sarge, he asked, "Son, why haven't you called your friends?"

Jaune's eyes fell back to the screen of his scroll. How could he answer Sarge? How could he tell him about what he'd done before he left? What a selfish, heartless coward he'd been. A leader was supposed to protect his team. To put them first. He'd failed on both accounts.

But more than that, he'd let them down as a friend. He should have been the one to take the hit for them, not be the one to give it. He'd just been so terrified of what would happen if he didn't. Of what Cardin would do to him if he refused. He'd been surrounded by enemies, so he'd done the one thing he thought might get him out of that situation. He'd been scared damnit. And not just of being beaten up by Cardin, but of losing everything he loved about Beacon, not least of all his team. He'd tried to save both his dream and his friends. But in the end he'd lost both.

But he couldn't tell Sarge that. He wouldn't understand, or else he'd understand fully, and that was even worse. So instead he answered, "I don't know what to say to them," which was partially true.

"Talk to them," commanded Sarge simply, getting to his feet. "We all need a few friends in life Jaune. And in this kind of life, you never know when you'll get to talk to them again. Life's too short to waste on apprehension. See you tomorrow kiddo." And just like that, he walked out, leaving Jaune alone once more.

Jaune looked back down to his scroll. Sarge didn't understand. How could he? He didn't deserve his friends, and they were better off without him. No doubt they'd soon be getting a new student to join their team. If Jaune tried to cling onto them, he'd just be holding them back from making a proper team with the new guy. A guy who probably wouldn't sell his team out for his own, stupid hide. It would just be one more selfish thing to add to the list. It would be better if he just left their lives completely. Stopped hurting them. They would get over him eventually, but if he tried to reconnect with them he'd just end up being a thorn in the side of their new team. He couldn't do that to them. If nothing else, he'd ensure he didn't ruin his team any more than he already had. He could handle the knowledge that they hated him. He could bear the pain of losing them. So long as he knew they were happy, that would be enough for him.

"Sorry guys," whispered Jaune, putting his scroll away, "it's better this way." No one saw Jaune stiffly lie down, turn over to face the wall and pull the sheets over his head. When the morning came, the tears had dried, and Jaune got ready to face another day.

* * *

 **And that's the third chapter of Sergeant Arc. I've not got much to say here, so I'll keep it brief. I hope you guys like the characters and how they're developing. I realise that there are a lot of them, but I hope you're able to understand who is who and what their personalities are. Some of you warned me against doing too much angst, but I feel Jaune needed to explain his reasoning for leaving his friends at some point, so best to get that out of the way early on. Next few chapters I'll try to move away from angst if I can. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you in two weeks for chapter 4.**


	4. Chapter 4 - The Atlas Council

**Slightly shorter chapter this time, but I hope you won't be too disappointed...**

* * *

" _War is sometimes a necessary evil. But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good. We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other's children"_

 _Jimmy Carter_

* * *

 **Chapter Four—The Atlas Council**

General Ironwood marched through the pristinely kept white walls of the Atlas Council Parliament Building. Flanking him on one side was Special Operative Winter Schnee. Winter was an exemplary soldier — loyal, intelligent, calm in the face of danger and excellent at taking initiative in the field. If there were only one soldier Ironwood wanted by his side in a fight, it was Winter.

Ironwood's other companion was no less admirable in the field, though slightly less orthodox. Commander Beatrice Blitz had joined the Atlas military a few years after graduating from a Huntsmen Academy, and had risen through the ranks at an extraordinary rate. She was known not just for her ability to lead men, but of doing so from the front. The thought of shouting orders through a radio whilst her men were fighting for their lives against the Grimm was unthinkable to her. She would never ask her troops to do anything she would not also do herself. Such affinity with her men had earned her the respect of all who served under her, and even from a few higher up the chain of command.

Ironwood examined her now from the corner of his eye. Her bob haircut was dust-dyed mud brown to keep within Atlas regulation. Her eyes were intelligent and piercing, missing nothing and observing everything. When she walked into a room she would never fail to cast her gaze around, noting the exits, calculating the situation, judging the scene. This habit of hers made her excellent in an unknown situation in the field, though sometimes made people uncomfortable around her back home. Although she was decent with a rifle, she never went into combat without her own, personalised weapon. It was technically prohibited in the Atlas military, but Beatrice had proved herself with it more than enough times for Ironwood to see fit to relax the rules around it. After all, it wouldn't do to handicap one of his best soldiers unnecessarily.

When Ironwood finally reached the door to the council chamber, he rotated to face his followers. Both stood to attention immediately.

"Thank you Schnee, Blitz. That will be all. You are dismissed." Both saluted him, then turned and walked away, the picture of military discipline. He knew they'd begin arguing before they'd even left the building.

Ironwood sighed, and pushed open the door to the vast chamber. Inside was a circular table, around which sat his four fellow council members. Two seats remained vacant for him. He sat in one, and nodded to the other councillors.

"Now that we are all seated," began a portly gentleman in a waistcoat that was struggling not to burst at the seams, and which probably cost more money than most people in Mantle would make in a lifetime, "we may begin to discuss the matters at hand. I would like to remind you all before we commence that what goes on inside this chamber is of the utmost secrecy, and not a word of this is to be breathed outside this room." At this, he stared at each of them meaningfully, as if he could command their obedience with a glare. Alan Geld, head of the Atlas treasury and National bank, was a man Ironwood couldn't stand. He had been practically born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and since then it had been used to spoon feed him everything his entire life.

"Duly noted, thank you Geld," this came from Jacques Schnee, head of the Schnee Dust Company; a ruthless businessman renown for ploughing through any and all obstacles to maximise profits, regardless of who got trampled. "As some of you are aware, we are here to discuss the problem of the operations of the White Fang, particularly in regard to its branch in Vale."

"What of it?" demanded Ironwood. "That is a problem left to the hands of the Valesian authorities."

"That," answered Jacques, raising an eyebrow, "is exactly the matter I wish to discuss. Gentlemen, we are all aware of the innumerable crimes the White Fang have committed. However, it has come to my attention that they are particularly active in and around Vale. Why, the SDC has lost more shipments to Vale these last few months than to the other kingdoms combined."

"I struggle to understand why this is a problem for the Atlas council," replied Ironwood icily. Jacques glared back.

"If I may interject," this came from the fourth member of the council. Pierre Capet was the head of internal social affairs. He had a soft, feminine voice which he never raised above a quiet murmur. Long, delicate fingers clutched a silk handkerchief, which he dabbed his constantly watering eyes with. "If I may interject, the good will between the people of Atlas is somewhat undermined by the activities of the White Fang. Successes in Vale against the SDC can breed a feeling that the White Fang are achieving something significant, thus turning some of our otherwise loyal citizens to their cause. Similarly, such actions may also fester resentment to Faunuses within our kingdom."

Ironwood gritted his teeth. He doubted Capet had ever even set foot in a lower-class street in Mantle, let alone knew what caused resentment to Faunuses, or for them to join the White Fang. The main reason for the latter was the white-haired man sitting opposite him.

"Not only that," added Geld excitedly, "but losing business is bad for the kingdom. Loss of business means loss of profit, and that means less capital."

"Precisely my point," nodded Jacques. "Yet it seems to me that the Valesian authorities are unable to manage this menace, if they even want it managed at all."

"What are you implying Jacques?" asked Ironwood coldly.

Jacques turned to look at him, his gaze equally frozen. "Merely that a weaker Atlas means a stronger Vale on the world stage." You could have cut the tension in the room with a sword at that point. Both men stared each other down. Neither was willing to break their glare first.

Eventually, Capet coughed into his hand. "Regardless of whether Vale is taking advantage of these events or not, it is necessary to take some form of preventive measures to protect our kingdom. If Vale will not take action, then I feel we must."

Ironwood finally dragged his eyes away from Jacques. "What are you suggesting?"

"Only that I, and other members of this council, believe it is in our kingdom's best interests, to occupy Vale until the White Fang menace has been dealt with."

Ironwood was up on his feet in a flash, his chair skittering across the floor behind him. "No. Never. What you're suggesting is an invasion of another kingdom in a time of peace. It is madness!"

"Sit down, James," reprimanded Geld, as if he was disciplining a naughty child. Judging from the lack of outrage in the faces of the other councillors the 'other members of this council' meant everyone there except for Ironwood. They must have decided on this course of action days ago, and knowing that he would never agree to it, they were trying to force his hand with a broad front attack. Typical.

"No. I won't stand for this. Under no circumstances will I be responsible for ushering in an age of war. Not for some personal gain," he said that final part with a meaningful glare at Geld.

Geld's face began to shake. "I have no idea what you're insinuating Ironwood, but I assure you this is purely for the benefit of Atlas. It will not be an invasion, we will merely be moving troops into their territory and conducting a removal of the White Fang presence in the area. We will be helping the populace of—"

"Rubbish," growled Ironwood, slamming a fist on the table. "It will be an invasion no matter what you claim, and people will fight us. My men will die for an unjustified, illegal war. You, meanwhile, will gain some very tidy profit from it. Let me guess; the Atlas army will need a lot of dust to fuel their forces, dust which will no doubt come from the SDC. Not to mention the weapons and equipment we'll need. If I'm not mistaken, you have several personal businesses which specialise in that area, Geld."

By this stage, Geld had gone beetroot red and was practically foaming at the mouth. "Baseless accusations!" he screamed, spittle flying.

Just as he was about to explode into a frantic rage, the last member of the council laid an arm on him and said diplomatically, "Calm, my friend. Arguing will get us nowhere." Immediately, Geld went silent, and some of the crimson colour leached from his face.

The last member of the committee now rose and walked over to Ironwood, laying a reassuring arm on his shoulder. He was the head of the Atlas secret service, if Ironwood remembered correctly. He wore an immaculate suit, and had a pristinely kept moustache. His voice was as smooth as velvet.

"My friend, I understand your apprehension. Your moral sense of duty is admirable. But this is what is best for both our kingdoms. My sources assure me that the people of Vale are unhappy with how their council is handling the situation over the White Fang. If we make our cause known to them they will welcome us with open arms. Very few casualties will be sustained, and if we remove the White Fang from Vale we will be saving many more lives in the long term. Can't you see the benefits from this course of action?"

Ironwood mulled over what had been said to him. Yes, it would be better in the long term, both for the people of Atlas and Vale. People would surely flock to his cause. Plus, if he was at the helm of the operation, he could ensure the campaign remained short and as bloodless as possible. Yes, it could be done. He could do it. He could designate certain areas off target, like Beacon, and areas with a high population. He could be a saviour of Vale. _The_ saviour of Vale. Yes. He could become a hero. Surely even Ozpin wou—

Ozpin! What was he thinking? Ozpin would be horrified to learn that one of his closest friends and most trusted allies had even considered invading his kingdom. Now, when peace was so desperately needed. When at any moment the enemy could make their move, and try to kill the maiden. A war would be the perfect opportunity for that. It might spread panic, and bring the Grimm.

But the glory of—

No, he clamped down on that voice in his head with an iron will. He wouldn't be responsible for a war after so many years of peace. Not after the last one almost wiped out humanity.

He shrugged off the arm that had remained on his shoulder the whole time, and stepped back.

"No. You need a unanimous vote from the council to declare war, and you will never get my seats' vote. Not whilst I live."

"Are you sure about that?" questioned his fellow councillor.

"Yes. I refuse to be a part of this madness. I am sorry Watts."

"I see," Arthur Watts replied stiffly. "That is a great shame. Are you sure you will not reconsider?"

"No. If there is nothing else this council wishes to discuss, then I will return to my quarters. Goodnight gentlemen." And with that, he was gone.

That night, no one heard as a shadow detached itself from a wall and crept into a heavily guarded military compound. Nor did they hear as the door to General Ironwood's room was opened, and then closed with a near silent click.

The next morning the councillors were awoken to an emergency meeting. General James Ironwood had tragically died during the night when his wardrobe had collapsed onto his bed. The sheer weight of the giant, metal box had been enough to crush Ironwood underneath it. It was terrible accident, simply dreadful. General Ironwood would be greatly missed. But the Atlas council must continue regardless. And with two seats on the council newly available, they would need to be filled. By the end of the day a new headmaster of Atlas academy was appointed, weak willed and easily controlled, and Arthur Watts found himself head of the Atlas military, along with his other duties.

When the council disbanded again, Watts smiled, and typed out a quick message to a memorise number. It read simply:

 _White bishop dealt with. Proceeding to stage two._

* * *

 **And so, the first signs that things aren't as they seem are revealed. Sorry Ironwood, I um-ed and er-ed about keeping you alive for a long time, but in the end decided there was no way you'd stand for a war between Atlas and Vale. So you had to go. You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain. I also realise that in this fic Ironwood may seem more hostile towards Jacques than in the show, but hey, it was more fun to write about it this way, and to be honest, it's my story.**

 **I hope you guys all enjoyed this chapter. For me, this was incredibly fun to write, and I had great fun playing with Pierre Capet and Alan Geld, two characters who I never originally intended to create, but who I decided would make a good addition to the Atlas council.**

 **Now that this is done, we're beginning to close in towards the end of what I call the first section of the story. I can't wait to get there with you guys. Keep reading, keep reviewing (reviews make all the hard effort worthwhile) and I'll see you in two weeks for chapter 5.**


	5. Chapter 5 - The Calm

_"No dumb bastard ever won a war by going out and dying for his country. He won it by making some other dumb bastard die for his country"_

 _General George Patton_

* * *

 **Chapter Five-The Calm**

One week after joining the military, Jaune Arc was fast regretting his hasty decision to do so. The mornings were brutally early. The training gruesome and exhausting. The meals anything from stale and brick hard to soggy and gloopy. Basically, it sucked.

At least Jaune was finally beginning to connect with the other members of his squad. Buzz had been all too pleased to have a friend close to his age, and had attempted to sit next to Jaune at every meal. Jaune had soon realised this wasn't quite such an innocent action, because the first morning this happened Jaune had sat on a whoopee cushion. Turns out Buzz liked to laugh, sometimes at the expense of others. Having Buzz also drew in Naomi, who would now chat to him at meals as if he were one of her closest friends. Bounty's raucous nature never failed to make Jaune chuckle. Cat had finally stopped laughing at Jaune's inability to march, and had begun to exaggerate her moves to make them easier to imitate. Phil was a constant pillar of support for Jaune whenever he needed it. He seemed just as desperate to make friends as Jaune had been. Even Aiden, the near silent wolf Faunus had shared a few kind words with Jaune. Jaune wasn't quite sure what it was, but something instantly drew him to Aiden. Maybe it was how he was always so calm and collected, or maybe because of his similarities with Ren—

Damn it.

Anyway, he still had headway to make with the others. Ash was as detached as ever, so nothing new there. Terry, who Bounty had taken to calling Terrier ("he's like a lost puppy, following Sarge everywhere," Bounty had explained), honestly seemed too occupied dogging Sergeant Cole's every move to even notice Jaune, and Finn (Finnegan was far too much of a mouthful, Jaune had decided) didn't really seem to want to make any friends.

Oh well. It was a start.

On one particular morning, Sarge took the group to the second field in the compound, this one boasting nothing more than a skull and cross bones sign. With a gleeful expression, Sarge merrily told them that this was a minefield, and that they would be trying to get across it.

"Are you _mad_?" cried Finn, "we'll be blown up for sure! This is suicide! I can't, I can't do it. I… I won't—"

"Shut it, numbnuts!" shouted Sarge. "We're not going to kill any of you. The mines are remote controlled, in fact, by our very own Lightning." Nine heads whipped around to stare dumbfounded at Phillip.

"We're all gonna die," whimpered Finn. Jaune was forced to admit, rather shamefully, that he didn't like his chances with Phil's jittery finger on the mine trigger.

"Question, sir," Cat raised her hand. "Why does schizophrenic Sal over there get to hold the big red button that decides who lives and dies?"

"Because, Tiger, Phil here is a combat engineer, and the only one with any training in handling explosives." That was news to Jaune. He'd always just assumed Phil was new to the military as well, but if he had training in explosives, that must mean he'd been there longer than he'd imagined.

"So," continued Sarge merrily, "if you'd rather I was in command of the big red button that decides who lives and dies, then—"

"Phillip is fine sir," Cat quickly amended.

"Good. If there are no other questions then— What is it Arc?"

"Um," Jaune went slightly red faced from being the centre of attention. "If you don't mind me asking, sir, what is a combat engineer?" Before Sarge or even Phil could answer, Naomi interjected.

"Combat engineers: soldiers who performs a variety of construction and demolition tasks under combat conditions. Their goal is to facilitate the ease of movement of friendly troops whilst impeding those of the enemy," explained Naomi, monotonously.

A pause.

"Thank you, Naomi, for that wonderful little insight. Now if all you turkey livers are done stalling, there's a minefield in the way of your objective. Clear it!"

Two hours, four lost legs and two 'deaths' later, Jaune was dismissed to return to the dorm with the rest of Beta section. Jaune collapsed onto his bed, utterly spent. He would have been quite content to lie like that for hours, but his bliss was denied when Sarge kicked open the door and bellowed, "ROOM ROOM 'TION." Jaune whimpered into his pillow. "Come on, you lazy snot noses, Santa's come to town!"

When Jaune finally found the energy to rise to his feet, he saw that Sarge was hauling a large black bag with him. He yanked it open and out spilled a sea of forest greens, mud browns and tar blacks. Combat uniforms.

"Look who the authorities finally decided to grace with presents," remarked Cat drily.

"That's the bloody government for you," Ash spat. "Military's always last in the pecking order."

"At least we have them now," piped Buzz.

"Fat load of help that's gonna be in a firefight," muttered Finn.

"All of you, shut your pie holes and grab something that fits!" yelled Sarge.

A mad rush ensued as everyone tried to grab the best fitting kit first. Jaune got caught up in the tide of human flesh, and soon found himself crushed under a mountain of Bounty.

"Hurry it up kids," said Sarge merrily, "cause tomorrow we're going on a little field trip."

The frantic struggling froze immediately.

"When you say field trip," began Terry delicately, "what exactly do you mean?"

"Well, Terrier, I'm so glad you asked," grinned Sarge, having far too much fun for Jaune's liking. "The powers from above have deemed it necessary to test out a few of their new sections. That means that at oh five hundred hours, you lot are being shipped out to a forward base in the field. From there, you'll spend the next week completing an objective to be specified once there." The whole room went up in groans. "So pack your bags boys and girls, because what you'll be bringing will be your loyal companions for the next week!"

The crowd that had built up around the uniforms gradually dispersed as the group went to work preparing for the upcoming week in the field. Jaune, who had only a handful of scant possessions was soon finished. As an afterthought, he picked up Crocea Mors and dropped it into his bag. He doubted it'd be much use in a firefight, but he couldn't stand the thought of leaving it behind.

Now finished, Jaune absently looked around the room. Buzz was trying to stuff a bundle of clothes into his pack, without much success. Terry was reading something, a book called... wait, was that the weapon's specification handbook? Not even Jaune had bothered reading that, let alone any of the others (well, except for maybe Naomi). Terry must have really wanted to impress Sarge. Either that, or he just really liked reading 100-page long books that were able to bore a rock to death. Finn was speaking to someone on his scroll in hushed tones with his back to the room. He'd been talking on his scroll almost every single evening since Jaune had got there. Jaune wondered who he was calling.

And finally, he spied Phillip, who was once more fiddling with the strange, flat, yellow device. Jaune watched as Phillip spun the cross that enclosed the stubby cylinder, then adjusted the hand crank so it stood vertically and spun it again.

Well, it wasn't like he had anything better to do right now.

"Hey Phil," greeted Jaune, approaching him. "What's that?"

"What? Oh, hey Jaune. What's what? This? Oh, this is, um, it's kind of my, my weapon," Phil admitted rather sheepishly. Jaune blinked.

"Your weapon? But I thought… is that even allowed in the army?"

"Strictly speaking, I mean, protocol doesn't technically allow it. But the Valesian army is pretty lax about protocol. Which is good, or else I would have left it. The Valesian army, that is. Not my weapon. I wouldn't leave my weapon." Jaune remembered his first day when Sarge had let him keep Crocea Mors, or how they'd only just received military uniform, or the ridiculous blue and purple hairstyles maintained by Naomi and Buzz. Phil wasn't kidding when he said the army was pretty lax.

"So, um, what is it?" asked Jaune. At Jaune's simply question, Phil's eyes lit up like a child's on Christmas day.

"Oh no," groaned Cat, "take cover! Lightning's started again." The inhabitants of the room immediately threw pillows over their heads or fled the dorm at Cat's behest. Alas, Jaune was not one of them.

"Well, for a start, she's called Aeron Wasp. Isn't she the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. Isn't she? State of the art technology. You see this drum here?" Phil pointed to the fat, metal cylinder enclosed by the yellow cross. "Well in that little baby is 400 electric dust rounds. 400! If I rotate this crank on the drum here, then this beauty can spit three of them every second. Every second! Grimm or human, nothing's gonna last long under that. The top of the crank also has a camera on it, helps me to see my enemies, you know?" Jaune wanted to point out that if the camera could see an enemy, then surely so could Phil, but Phil's barrage of rapid speech wouldn't let Jaune get a word in edgewise. "That's not even the best thing about her. See here, this lil' treasure can—" suddenly, Phil stopped, finally allowing himself to snatch a breath. He shot a sly grin at Jaune. "Well, let's just say there's more to her than meets the eye."

Jaune was a little… overwhelmed, to say that least. He was once more reminded of how simplistic his own weapon was. Ruby would have a field day if she was ever introduced to Ph-

Damn it. _"Stop thinking about them,"_ he reprimanded himself.

Desperate to distract himself, Jaune decided to risk another protracted answer from Phil. "Where did you get something like that?" he inquired.

"I made it," Phil announced proudly. "Every square inch of this baby hand crafted by yours truly."

"You made that?"

"You betchya. It wasn't easy. The amount of circuitry something like this requires, not to mention the armoured plating, and that's even before you get onto the specialised electric dust rounds needed for this. That alone can cost an arm and a leg. Well, not literally an arm and a leg, that'd be weird. But almost. Like, a lot of money. Though I got lucky with those. My dad owns a business that specialises in electric dust application, you see. Technology of the future, all that kind of stuff. Never really understood it. He never bothered to explain. But it meant I could get my hands on these relatively easily. Well, not that easily, but easier than otherwise."

"Is that why the others call you Lightning?" asked Jaune, glancing to the other members of his squad, still cowering under their sheets.

"Lightning? Nah, they call me that cause of my surname."

"What _is_ your surname?" asked Jaune.

"Mine? Oh, uh, it's Blitz," Phillip informed him. "Phillip Blitz."

* * *

Beatrice Blitz sighed as she strode down the long corridors of the Atlas Military High Command Centre. The death of General Ironwood was still hot on her mind. It was almost impossible to imagine that the extraordinary man under whom she'd served was now in a grave. It wasn't fair that such a great man had been stolen from them. It just didn't feel right.

Beatrice sighed again. The new General hadn't made things any easier either. Almost as soon as he'd been appointed, he had ordered the execution of several complicated military exercises. He had also increased the alert level of all units. When she had wanted time to digest what had happened and grieve the loss of the General, she had instead been forced to lead a number of soldiers in practise manoeuvres. She didn't understand why it had been necessary. She intended to bring it up in the meeting with General Watts she was going to now.

The moment Beatrice entered the command room, she knew something wasn't right. There was an almost palpable apprehension in the air. Her senses were jingling in a way they often did whilst out in the field, just before a Grimm attacked.

She scanned the assembled people in the room as she often did when entering an unknown situation, trying to identify the source of her unease. Some of them she knew, others she didn't. But she realised one thing they all had in common instantly. They were all high ranking commanders in the Atlas military. Something big was about to happen.

She spotted General Watts standing behind a large table across which was spread a map of Remnant. Behind him, with hairy arms crossed over his chest, was a bearded giant of a man surveying the scene. His gaze over the assembled Atlas personnel was critical and calculating, as if he were judging his chances in a fight. In fact, Beatrice realised with a start that he was scrutinizing the room in much the same way she was. A bodyguard? But the man seemed to hold himself more aloft than that, and was it her imagination, or when his eyes passed General Watts did he look at him almost with… contempt? The man hid it well, but Beatrice was a master at reading people. Just then though, the man's hazel eyes fell upon hers. Beatrice quickly looked away, as if she were a naughty child, though she'd done nothing wrong. Something about that gaze though, the intensity of it, had forced her to avert her eyes. Beatrice realised the man behind General Watts was not to be messed with.

"I believe that is everyone this meeting requires," began General Watts. "Ladies and gentlemen, as you may well be aware, I am the newly appointed General of the Atlas military after the recent passing of General Ironwood. Some of you, I will have already had the pleasure of making an acquaintance," General Watts nodded to a few older men, "whilst others I will no doubt come to know in time." At this General Watts's eyes roamed around the room, pausing on Beatrice's for a split second before moving on. Beatrice shivered slightly.

"General Watts," spoke a young commander whom Beatrice had never seen before. "If I may ask sir, why have you called this meeting?"

"An excellent question," General Watts drawled. Once more he scanned the assembled faces before him, and once more Beatrice shivered when his eyes met hers. There was something about him that caused the hairs on Beatrice's neck to rise, and she didn't like it. "I see no reason to keep you all in the dark. As you all know, the military has been on a heightened stage of alertness for the past week. This is not a drill. The Atlas council has decided to occupy the Kingdom of Vale."

"What!?" cried Beatrice, unable to control herself. They couldn't attack another kingdom, and especially not Vale. Surely the other commanders in the room was agree with her. This was madness.

An instant later, she mentally kicked herself as the entire assembly turned to stare at her. What was she thinking? Of course the others wouldn't object. Not to someone as superior as a general. Almost all of them had been born and raised in Atlas their whole lives, some no doubt attending the academy. If there was one thing that kind of life would stamp out faster than a spreading fire, it was insubordination. She would get no support here.

General Watt's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Commander Blitz, is it?" Beatrice nodded. "I understand your apprehension, but it is not your place to question orders. You are to prepare your men immediately for ferrying to Vale at five o'clock tomorrow morn—" Beatrice desperately tried to keep her mouth clamped shut, but she had never been one for submissiveness.

"But sir, we are at a time of peace. What use could the invasion of a friendly Kingdom possibly ha—"

"That is enough, _commander_!" For a moment, Beatrice honestly thought General Watts was about to leap across the desk and throttle her, but he reigned in his anger. Instead, he walked around the table and approached her, his arms outstretched in peace. "It is understandable that you would have lots of questions." As he came closer Beatrice fought to stay still. Her instincts, honed by her years of training as a huntress screamed at her to react, to move, to do something! "But it ends now." Watts laid an arm on her shoulder.

An odd feeling seeped through Beatrice's body from the epicentre of General Watt's hand. It was a strange numbness, like warm water snaking through her veins. She felt it flow up her arm like shoots of a tree, but for some strange reason, it didn't bother her. It was soothing, like a painkiller, dampening her stress, her discomfort, her suspicion.

"You will ask no more questions about this matter. You will do what you are ordered to, and ensure that your subordinates do the same."

She really should. That was what the army had trained her to do, wasn't it? Follow orders. What those orders were didn't matter, did they? General Watts wouldn't tell her to do anything without having considered every option first, would he? This was for the best. She was sure of it.

"Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, sir."

"Good," said General Watts, stepping back from her. He then turned back to face his entourage. "You will receive specific orders once you return to your posts. Prepare your men to move out at five o'clock sharp. I understand that some of you will think that we have not had long enough to prepare for this monumental task, but I assure you, every variable for has been carefully considered. The Valesian military is poorly trained, poorly equipped and will be easily overcome. The Council does not want to allow time for that to change. We will move quickly and finish this campaign within the month…"

Beatrice tried to pay attention to what General Watts was saying, but in a rare lapse of concentration, she soon zoned out her superior's instructions. Her mind wandered to what she was about to be a part of, what she was about to do. In particular, she thought about the opposition she would face. General Watts seemed confident that the Valesian army wasn't worth much; that there was nothing to worry about. But Beatrice still couldn't help but wonder about a certain tall, dark haired man with dull red armour. Wars _always_ had casualties, of that she knew.

She wondered if her twin brother would be one of them.

* * *

 **Chapter five, done! Things are finally coming together, pieces are being moved, actions are being taken. We're still in the calm for now, but how long will it be before the storm arrives?**

 **I'm super stoked for where this story is going, and I hope you guys are too. If you think this story is going too slowly, don't worry, big things are coming soon. EEEEKK!**

 **Keep reading, keep reviewing, and of course, keep following Sergeant Arc.**


	6. Chapter 6 - Ambush

" _It is pardonable to be defeated, but never to be surprised"_

 _Frederick the Great_

* * *

 **Chapter 6—Ambush**

The training exercise had barely lasted four hours and Jaune already hated it. At first light they had been dragged out of bed (some of them literally) and had piled onto a cramped bullhead. Then came a harrowing journey where Jaune had promptly thrown up mere minutes into it. The first few times his section had good naturedly mocked him. By the last time everyone had cleared a three-metre radius around him and had stuffed whatever clothing they could against their noses. When the bullhead finally touched down in a clearing somewhere north of Vale and everyone had poured out gasping for fresh air, Cat had had to be held back to prevent her from throttling Jaune right there and then.

Next, they had been briefly introduced to two other sections who had arrived on a bullhead which had left sometime earlier, so that all in all they made a platoon of around thirty men. Then for no particular reason that Jaune could grasp, Jaune and the others had been forced to dig narrow trenches around their makeshift camp for an hour of what Sarge called an 'all-round defence'. It was a miserable affair. Jaune's trench had filled with water from some unknown source five minutes in, so that now Jaune knelt in what resembled a bog. His rifle seemed even heavier than usual. The hot sun blazed relentlessly onto his back, making him sweaty and uncomfortable. His armour, which he had worn under his combat uniform, dug into his back and attempted to drag him down into the mud. Even Crocea Mors, which hung from his hip, seemed intent on jabbing him no matter how he tried to arrange it.

Jaune shifted in his slit trench for what felt like the millionth time. He glanced left to see Phil a few meters away in an equally uncomfortable hole. Beyond Phil was Finn, complaining yet again, and even further Jaune could make out the distinct purple and blue heads of Buzz and Naomi. The rest of the squad sat or crouched beyond them. To Jaune's right was a man from a different section called Angus, but who everyone called Goose because of his abnormally long neck and pouty lips.

Jaune settled himself down and prepared for a long wait.

For the first time since arriving, Jaune could appreciate the scenery. He had dug his foxhole towards the edge of the clearing, meaning the bullhead was behind him. The forest in front of him was a vibrant green, with hints of pink, purple and white flowers peeping through. The trees were alive with sounds. He'd been in the city so long he'd forgotten how beautiful the song of nature was. Jaune closed his eyes to enjoy it. Humming insects. Chirping birds. A rustle of dancing leaves. A deep humming sound. The scurrying of some small ani-

Wait a minute. A deep humming sound? Jaune opened his eyes and listened intently. There, under all the other noise, some kind of motor or engine was rumbling away. It seemed to be coming from the forest. No, wait, not the forest. The air above it. What on Remnant could that be?

Jaune sat up, fully alert and listened once again. The sound seemed to be coming closer, and now Jaune could hear an electric whirring accompanying it. It didn't sound like something from a forest. It didn't even sound like Grimm. It sounded… mechanical.

Jaune's gut clenched uncomfortably. He couldn't explain the feeling, but somehow, he knew something was wrong. Hurriedly, he turned to Phil.

"Do you hear that? That sound?" Phil listened for a second, before nodding.

"It kinda sounds like a, like an airship." The sound was much louder now, easily audible to everyone around.

"Looks like the military decided we could do with some extra company, eh?" piped in Goose, his grin revealing dirty, uneven teeth. "Let's wave 'em in."

Jaune's eyes were locked onto the sky. Whatever it was would reveal itself from there. His eyes scanned the treetops desperately.

There! A bullhead tore out of cover over the forest, engines screaming. The uneasy feeling in Jaune's stomach became a clawing monster, but his rational side still couldn't see any reason to be afraid. It was just another shipment of troops for the exercise.

"Oi!" called Goose, standing out of his trench and waving his hands over his head, "come join the par-!"

An ear-splitting screech tore its way from the aircraft and a storm of bullets smashed into Goose. His body jerked, head snapping back. Spouts of red mist flew from his torso. His carcass was tossed backwards like a ragdoll, slamming into the ground with a wet crunch.

Jaune dived down in his trench as the ground around him erupted in a frenzy. Dirt was hurled into the air as bullets slammed into the earth. Jaune jerked and writhed as sledge hammers pounded mercilessly into his back.

A split second later it was over, the bullhead roaring over his head. Jaune was left panting in his hole, every part of him in excruciating pain. What was happening? This couldn't be real. It was just a training exercise. But if so, why was there a bullhead trying to tear him to pieces. Clumsily, he patted himself down, finding no injuries. He was too shocked to even be thankful for his aura.

Jaune dragged himself out of his hole and crawled over to where Goose lay, needing to see for himself that this was real, that this wasn't just some cruel trick by the senior officers.

When he reached the mangled corpse, he wished he hadn't. Goose's chest was a gaping bloody hole. His eyes were wide, unseeing. His grin was still plastered to his face.

Jaune turned and threw up. His head hovered mere inches above the vile vomit on the ground. His whole body was shaking. He just wanted to curl into a ball and cry. This wasn't supposed to happen. This couldn't be real.

Empty, lifeless eyes mocked Jaune's pitiful denial.

"There's something in the forest!" Aiden yelled. Jaune's head jerked up to see what could possibly have caused the wolf Faunus to shout.

That movement saved his life.

Something whizzed by Jaune, centimetres from his face. It blasted the ground where Jaune's head had previously been.

Jaune launched himself to his feet, his muscles suddenly free of the paralysis that had kept them pinned in place. They were under attack! Holy Oum there were people in the woods and in the air trying to kill him! Jaune's confidence broke. His breathing tore its way out of his throat in sharp pants. His measly week of training could never have prepared him for this. There was no way he could survive. He was going to die. He was going to die.

Jaune was swamped by screams from all around. Cries of shock. Yells of pain. Pleads for help. It was a deafening cacophony of men and women scared out of their minds. Somehow, out of the clamour, Jaune was able to pick up one, faint voice shrieking something.

"GET TO THE BULLHEAD!"

Jaune spun towards the voice and saw the airship that had taken them there with its side doors flung open. A soldier stood on the threshold, desperately beckoning anyone who could see him to get onboard. Other men and women were already converging on their only source of escape. But the bullhead couldn't carry everyone.

Jaune didn't think. He ran.

A second shot flew past him. His heart thumped against his chest. His breath came rushing out in desperate pants. Only one thought was clear in the muddy terror of Jaune's brain.

He had to reach the bullhead.

Jaune heard an airship's engines building towards another crescendo, but it wasn't the one on the ground. The enemy bullhead was coming back! Jaune sprinted even faster.

Men were beginning to leap though the open bullhead doors. It was filling up fast. But Jaune was almost there. He could see it. He was going to make it. He was going to make it. He was goin-

A hand snapped out and snatched Jaune's foot from under him. Jaune went down hard, gasping in surprise.

An instant later the bullhead exploded.

Jaune screamed and threw an arm over his head as a wall of fire washed over him, sucking his eyes dry, singing his clothes, stealing his oxygen. A moment later it was over, and Jaune could only gape at the burning wreck of the bullhead that had become the tomb of so many people.

He twisted around to see Ash lying behind him, Jaune's foot still clutched in his hand.

"Idiot," snapped Ash, releasing Jaune's foot.

* * *

When the bullhead first opened fire, Naomi had screamed. Screamed and screamed and screamed, curled in her hole, defenceless against the primal, instinctive terror that gripped her heart in a vice. Even when the firing stopped, she would have kept screaming for hours had it not been for one panicked thought that broke through the fog of dread.

Buzz.

Weakly, she dragged herself out of her shelter and over to Buzz's hole, flinching every time a shot from the forest whizzed over her head. This was exactly what she'd feared would happen. Why had she let him join the army? Why hadn't she tried harder to stop him?

"Buzz," she called. No answer. "Buzz!" she shrieked. Her brother meant everything to her, everything. If he was dead—no. She couldn't think about that. Wouldn't. He had to be alive, he had to, he had to, he had to.

Finally, she pulled herself over the lip of her younger sibling's trench. Inside Buzz lay at the bottom, his hands protectively gripped over his purple head. Panicked eyes flew to hers, terror etched into them. But he was alive! So very much alive.

"Naomi!"

"Buzz!" wept Naomi in relief. She pulled herself into his trench and hugged him tight. She'd never lose him, she reminded herself. Even if she had to take every bullet on Remnant for him she'd take care of him damnit.

Their reunion was interrupted when the manic face of Sergeant Cole appeared above their hole.

"Naomi!" Sergeant Cole yelled, dropping into their already crowded trench, "what in Oum's name is going on?"

"Sarge!" cried Naomi. She'd never been so relieved to see the gruff old bear in her life. If anyone could get them out of this alive, it was him. "A bullhead just attacked us. There are people in the forest shooting at us. What'd we do?"

"You don't say," noted Sarge, peering over the rim of the hole. After a pause, he asked, "why aren't they advancing?" Reluctantly, Naomi joined Sarge in peering over the trench at the shadows that flittered between the trees, but she made sure there was no room for Buzz to do the same. _"Why aren't they,"_ she wondered. Now that she thought about it, the enemy had done little more than take pot shots at them from a distance, never risking leaving the safety of the trees. If they wanted to attack they could have done it immediately after the bullhead attacked, when they were all disorganised and disarrayed. So what were they waiting for? The answer to her question came to her in a flash, and it filled her with dread all over again.

"They're waiting for the bullhead to kill us all," she whispered, her face ashen. "They don't need to attack, because they're confident the bullhead can do it all alone. They're not acting as the ambush—they're the trap."

"So, the moment we try to run, they gun us down like animals," finished Sergeant Cole as he caught her meaning. He spat at the ground. "Fuck it. We're taking that sonofabitch down now! Give me some covering fire." Before Naomi could argue, Sarge had scampered out of the trench and across the battlefield towards some containers. Naomi turned back to the forest and raised her gun, emptying a clip at the phantoms which patrolled just within the protective borders of the forest. She turned back and saw the bullhead make another attack run, but this time it wasn't aiming to splatter them, so she ignored it.

She saw Sarge returning to them, now dragging a large box and a long tube-like apparatus with him. As he reached the edge of their hole, he revealed a shit-eating grin.

"Ready to take some well-deserved revenge?" he asked. Naomi nodded uncertainly. "Take this," he held out the tube-like thing to her. Except with a start, she realised it wasn't a tube at all.

It was a bazooka.

"No. No no no." Sarge just grinned at her. "I can't use this. I don't even know how."

"You're a fast learner. Besides, I'm a shit shot, so you can't be any worse than me. Just wait until it's nice and close, then blow that bastard's brains across Sanus. We'll cover you."

The bazooka was dropped onto her shoulder and a dust rocket from Sarge's box was stuffed down the open end of the weapon. This was madness. Utter madness. To get a good shot, she'd need to be outside her hole, standing still whilst a freaking flying death machine spat dust at supersonic speeds at her. It was almost suicide. Why was she getting out of the hole then?

The bullhead had completed its death run, and had turned around for yet another crack at killing them all. Naomi was practically shitting herself, but somehow, she managed to crouch down and take aim. Ok, ok. She could do this. Naomi had never been one to back down from a challenge. She just had to take into account velocity of the rocket, velocity of the bullhead, distance between them, angle of attack, gravity, wind speed, oh, and whether she was getting shot at or not.

Damn, that was a lot of factors.

She steadied her breathing, crouched down as low as possible, and sighted down the barrel. She heard Sarge and Buzz firing crazily into the woods. She hoped they were accurate.

The bullhead was closing in on her position fast. Its machine gun on its underside began to whirr and spin. The first round of high impact explosive dust hammered into the ground in front of her and began to skitter towards her. _Not yet. Not yet._ Somehow, she was able to clamp her legs still and prevent them from sprinting away, dragging her torso along with them. She released her breath and closed her finger on the trigger. _Not yet. Not yet._ Dirt burst up all around her as the flying demon bore down on her. _Now!_ She pulled the trigger, and instantly the bazooka wrenched wildly against her grip as a thundering BOOM deafened her. She dropped the weapon and closed her hands over her ears, shaking her head to stop the ringing which rattled her entire brain.

When she looked up again it was raining fire.

"Yes Nuke!" bellowed Sarge, loud enough for everyone to hear, as bits of burning airship cratered into the ground around them.

Naomi slipped back into the foxhole, still in shock. She had actually hit it. Holy shit! Numbly, because she had no idea what else to say she asked, "Nuke?" Sarge just grinned manically.

"You've earnt the nickname, kid." Technically she was eighteen, but she silenced the urge to correct him.

"Nuke it is," she grinned, ecstatic despite the moment.

* * *

Phil cheered when he saw the bullhead brought down, then yelped as another bullet hit the ground just in front of his head. Aeron Wasp spat a dozen electric dust rounds in return, none of them accurate. Phillip wiped his sweaty, jittery palms on his trousers, before returning them to grip the yellow weapon once again.

Hot damn. Ok. So the ground forces weren't going to give them any respite after their small victory. Ok. That was hardly fair. They deserved at least a breather. At least a moment's pause. Still, he couldn't really blame them for not stopping in the middle of a firefight. Well, he could. And he would. But he would probably have done the same.

He threw a furtive glance around. Bounty was firing blindly into the woods, achieving nothing other than wasting ammo. Aiden was much more composed, a perfectly still statue except for his silver wolf tail which flickered subconsciously, sighting down his barrel and taking precise shots into the trees. More often than not, those shots were answered by muffled cries from the darkness. Finnegan was still cowering in his hole, whimpering. Cat was reloading, her usually cocky grin now uncertain. Jaune was-

Wait. Where was Jaune? His hole was empty. At least, Phil was pretty sure that was his hole. Jaune had been right next to him, hadn't he? Hadn't he? But where was he now?

Phillip's eyes glanced around frantically. Oh no. Oh no no no. Was Jaune dead? No, he couldn't be, there was no body. But why would he leave his trench? It didn't make sense-

There! Bolting back to them from behind was Jaune and… wait, was that Ash? Shaved head and muscly arms confirmed that indeed it was. He was racing along behind Jaune, dragging him down when they were shot at and booting him forward when Jaune seemed frozen with fear. Their hopscotching method was closing the distance between them and the line of trenches. They were almost back to safety. Almost.

A line of dark, cylindrical items sailed out of the woods and almost lazily, arced back down to the ground. One of them landed with a thunk near Phil and roll a little way. It stopped mere feet from Jaune and Ash.

A grenade.

Jaune froze. Ash hesitated. Phillip didn't.

Years of training Phil thought he'd forgotten came rushing back as he leapt out of his hole and hurled his body over the item. Phil's mind had just a split second to think _"oh shi-!"_ before a colossal wave of fiery, concussive energy erupted under him, driving a fist through his chest and hurling the body of Phil into the air like a discarded toy. The ragdoll that was Phil smacked to a sudden halt on the ground, and didn't get up.

* * *

"Phil!" screamed Jaune, sprinting to his friend, only to find his arm jerked back in the unforgiving grasp of Ash. "What are you doing?! We have to-"

"They're coming out of the woods," snarled Ash, and Jaune could see that indeed soldiers were rushing out of the treeline, darting between shrubbery and whatever else they could use for cover. Beta section were blasting at them with everything they had, but it was clear they couldn't keep them back forever. The grenades must have been some kind of initial attack to cover their charge. "We need to stop them first."

"But Phil-"

"Phillip's dead!" Ash shouted, harsh, but not cruelly, "you can't help him. Now get back and hold the line." Ash turned his back on Jaune and raced back to his trench, trusting that Jaune would do the same. It was the logical thing to do. It was too late for Phil, but Jaune might be able to help hold back the enemy soldiers, possibly saving them all.

But Jaune couldn't just go back. Phil may have been dead, but if he was then it was Jaune's fault, at least partly. Whilst there was even a tiny chance that his friend was still alive, Jaune wouldn't abandon him. He owed him that much at least.

Without a moment more of hesitation, he raced off to were Phil had landed.

Jaune approached Phil's body cautiously, terrified of what he'd find. Phil was lying face down in the dirt, hiding the grizzly image of his destroyed stomach. His combat uniform was frayed and sizzled around his chest. His red armour had been burnt to soot black. Jaune approached even closer. Phillip's black hair was even messier than usual, but his eyes were closed and his face neutral, almost peaceful. Almost like he was sleeping. Jaune bit back a sob at the thought that Phil would never wake from his eternal slee-

Phillip's eyes flew open.

Jaune screamed and fell backwards over his own feet. The zombie blinked, then placed its hands underneath it and slowly lifted itself up, groaning as it did so.

"Oh man, that hurts like hell. Remind me never to do that again."

"Phil!" Jaune surprised even himself when he flew at his friend and enclosed him in a hug. "I thought you were dead." Then the realisation hit him. "No, wait, you should be dead." He pushed himself off and looked at Phil's torso. His clothing had completely burned away there, revealing the blackened and scorched breastplate underneath, but not the mangled gaping mess that Jaune had expected. But the armour alone shouldn't have been enough to save Phil. At the very least, he'd have all kinds of burns on his skin. Phil wasn't just alive.

He was completely unhurt.

"You have aura," breathed Jaune, finally connecting the dots. Phil simply nodded.

The dozens of questions Jaune wanted to ask were interrupted when Finn barged past without even giving them a cursory glance. Curses and threats came flying after him from Sarge, hot on his heels, as if they wanted to trip Finn up and drag him back. Jaune and Phil shared a scared look, then raced back to the rest of their squad.

They didn't get half way there.

The gap in the line left by the absence of Jaune, Phil and now Finn was swarming with enemy soldiers trying to get through. Evidently, they'd seen the weak spot, and were now trying to charge it with everything. Only the ceaseless, full auto shooting of Bounty was holding them back. The lunatic was standing on the rim of his hole, oblivious to the shots which were skimming past him, laughing manically. But he'd run out of bullets soon. And when he did, nothing would be able to staunch the flood of enemy soldiers.

Clearly, Sarge was thinking the same thing.

"Fall back! Everyone fall back!" he bellowed. "Phil! Think you can keep their heads down for a second?" Phil nodded, and the next moment he had his yellow weapon out and was spinning the crank like mad, blasting away and forcing the enemy to take cover.

Whilst the attackers had their heads down, his squadron scrambled out of their trenches and fled. By concentrating their forces on one point, the attackers were stretched thin, and the last thing they expected was to be attacked head on by a very angry and very trigger-happy Bounty. Within moments he had broken a gap in their defence, and Beta section rushed through towards freedom. Jaune sprinted after them into the forest. He had no idea what had happened to the other sections, but considering the circumstances, Jaune could have been forgiven if they weren't at the top of his priority list.

Jaune stumbled through bushes and brambles, tree branches whipping at his face, roots clawing at his feet. Around him the rest of Beta section ran in a disorganised jumble of bodies with Sarge leading the way and Ash bringing up the rear. Jaune heard shouts from the soldiers behind them, and ran even faster.

Eventually, he managed to catch up with Sarge. "What… what happened to, to Finn?" Jaune panted.

"He fled," spat Sarge, radiating fury in everything he said and did, "saw the bastards coming at him and decided his life was worth more than ours. Turned tail and ran." Sarge said no more, and Jaune ran on in pensive silence.

After a minute or so of frantic scrambling, Sergeant Cole suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. Terry collided into him and bounced off.

"Why the hell are we stopping?" demanded Cat, approaching their leader. When she reached Sarge's shoulder, she cursed and looked around frantically. Jaune came forward, desperate to see what on Remnant could have caused them to cease their escape.

The entire forest disappeared before him.

A fire must have razed the area recently, because there wasn't a single tree in front of him for at least a couple of hundred meters, and the ground was charred and blackened. The devastation spread to either side as far as Jaune could see.

"What's wrong with it?" asked Buzz.

"We need to cross it, that's what," spat Sarge, "it's too wide to go around. If our pursuers are as professional as they seem to be they'll be making a wide sweep of this area. We'd be seen by one of them before we were half way around."

The raised voices were coming closer. Jaune glanced around, expecting a soldier to jump out and shot them all at any moment.

"So we go through it. What's so bad about that?" asked Jaune.

"There's no cover. The moment they reach this spot they'd shoot us all before we made it half way," growled Sarge.

"So we're all going to die," panted Terry, eyes wide.

"Not necessarily," replied Sarge, turning to face his section. His eyes were stony and his expression grim. "Someone needs to stay behind to cover our backs."

Silence reigned as what Sarge was asking sank in. They all looked at each other fearfully. But not Sarge. His gaze was set on a single point behind Jaune. Jaune followed his line of sight to find Ash's slate grey eyes locked back onto Sarge's. No words were spoken, but some kind of communication that Jaune couldn't decrypt must have occurred, because after a few intense seconds, Ash nodded once. Ash brought his boots together, straightened his back, raised his chin and shot a crisp salute to Sarge. It was the first time Jaune had ever seen Ash salute sincerely. The next instant he was gone, slinking through the undergrowth, little more than a silhouette soon swallowed by the wall of greens and browns.

"It's been an honour," whispered Sarge, returning Ash's salute to his fading back.

"I thought you hated each other," Terry revered.

"We did," stated Sarge. A beat passed in silence. "Now come on. We need to move."

No one said anything else as they ran over the charred ground. A few seconds later several shots rang out behind them, spurring them on. Unwittingly, as they dashed across the open ground, they began to spread out, each person alone in their own race to reach the other side before they felt hot dust slice through their backs. Before long, they had degraded into little more than a ragged line.

Jaune also found himself completely submerged in his own world, his companions temporarily forgotten. There was only him, the trees ahead, and the faceless terror that stalked him.

Jaune was within meters of the tree line when he was shot in the back.

" _Not again,"_ Jaune managed to think as he went down. His aura flared a brilliant white, before cracking and shattering.

Crap.

"I don't remember telling you it was time for a break Private," said Sarge, appearing in Jaune's field of vision and hauling him to his feet.

"Sarge! My aura's gone." Sarge grunted and shoved him ahead.

"Then you better run faster now hadn't you Private."

Sergeant Cole and Jaune sprinted into the cover of the trees and kept running. In the thick undergrowth, Jaune soon lost all sense of where everyone else was, or in what direction he was even running. He just kept going.

Jaune lungs were burning for oxygen by the time he and Sarge finally slowed to a stop. He fell to his knees and sucked in the sweet, crisp forest air. He turned to ask Sarge something.

That was when he saw him. One of the soldiers emerging from behind a tree. Whether it was someone who had been previously chasing them, or just a perimeter guard, Jaune would never know. The next few seconds seemed to stretch into minutes. A strangled wail began to rise from his throat. The clumsy, heavy rifle rose in his grip, too slow to beat the soldier's. He saw the soldier release a breath and sight down his rifle, too close to miss. Too close for Jaune to do anything. Anything but watch as the man's finger closed on the trigger…

And Sergeant Cole leapt in front of Jaune.

An explosion ripped through the silence of the forest. A split second later it was accompanied by a partner, and the enemy soldier flipped onto his back. Jaune looked down at the smoking barrel of his gun. He hadn't even realised he'd shot.

"Bugger," grunted the body at Jaune's feet.

"Sarge!" Jaune yelled, crouching down beside him. Sarge's combat jacket was rapidly darkening, far faster than Jaune thought was possible. It had just been one shot. Only one bullet. Surely a bear of a man like Sergeant Cole could take that and recover. "Crap Sarge, what do I do? How do I… what am I… just tell me what to do!"

"Do nothing," wheezed Sarge, brining his hand to his chest. When he removed it again, it was soaked in blood, but there was something in it. "You can't help me now. But you can help them." Sergeant Cole pushed the thing in his hand into Jaune's, forcing Jaune to accept it. "Keep them safe Jaune. Keep them alive." Jaune looked down at his blood drenched hand and recoiled when he saw what was in it.

"No. No. Not again. I can't Sarge. I can't do it-"

"You have to!" snarled Sarge, clutching Jaune's wrist desperately. "You have to. For… for them. Don't … don't…" Sarge's grip was slackening rapidly and his voice was weakening by the second. "Don't fail them… Sergeant Arc." Sarge's hand slipped to the ground, and by the time Jaune stood up, Sergeant Cole was dead.

He looked for another second at the blood-stained rank slide in his hand, then attached it to his uniform stiffly. When he was done, he looked once more upon the body of his sergeant, his friend. It didn't seem right to leave him here as carrion for the crows, or worse, but there wasn't much else Jaune could do. Besides, Sarge wouldn't want him to have wasted time for something like burial. Not when it would mean delaying his duty.

With one final, wistful look over his shoulder, Jaune disappeared into the forest to find his new section, now bearing the rank, and the responsibility, of sergeant.

* * *

 ***Deep breathe* OK, that's chapter six finally complete. This chapter was exceptionally hard to write (and not just because of how long it or, or how I wrote 1,500 words for it which will never see the light of day). This chapter should mark the beginning of a slightly darker story than how Sergeant Arc may have first seemed. I hope you guys will enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it (I may have had a little too much fun killing Goose and other faceless characters). Having said that, I did feel terrible for what I did to Ash and Sarge. But that was intentional, and it serves to give an important message - people do die in war. All the time. It doesn't matter how how strong you are, or how fast you are, or even good you are at shooting. Sometimes all it takes is one unlucky shot to take down the best. If even the two battle-hardened veterans couldn't survive, then what hope do a bunch of barely trained, poorly equipped soldiers have? Well keep reading, and we'll see. Things can't possibly get any worse for our protagonists, can they?**

 **Thank you guys for sticking through such a long chapter, thank you for following, favouriting, reviewing or simply just reading this story. Tell me where you hope I take this story and what you want me to do with the characters. No promises, but it does help to inflate my already gargantuan ego when people post a review. Thank you again, and I'll see you in two weeks for the next chapter of Sergeant Arc.**


	7. Ch 7 - The Rank and the Responsibility

" _One should never despair too soon"_

 _Frederick the Great_

* * *

 **Chapter Seven—The Rank and the Responsibility**

It was a while before Jaune finally caught up with his section. They sat or stood panting by a brook, evidently having decided they were far enough away to stop running. Jaune approached them through the undergrowth, following the devastated trail of snapped branches and bent bushes they'd left in their wake. The first thing he saw was the business end of a rifle shoved into his face, the crazed, bearded mug of Bounty behind it.

"Don't shoot!" yelped Jaune, his voice breaking spectacularly. Well, there went any hope of them following him because of his manliness. Though come to think of it, was that ever really an option?

"Jaune!" gasped Bounty, hastily lowering his weapon, "don't sneak up on us like that. I almost blew your brains out." Jaune seriously hoped he was joking.

"Jaune!" This came from Phil, who Jaune was deeply relieved to see looked unscathed. "Thank Oum you're alive. Are you alright? What happened to you? Did you get caught? No, wait, you couldn't have. Unless you escaped. Did you?"

"Where's Sarge?" demanded Cat, cutting off Phil's questions, "last I saw, you were with him. Oum knows we could use him right about now."

"Jaune?" asked Naomi. Her blue, spiky hair was all over the place, matted with dirt and sweat. Her eyes were alert though, and full of worry. She'd spotted the look on his face before anyone else had.

"Sarge… Sergeant Cole didn't… he didn't…" began Jaune, but he found his voice too clogged with emotion to go on. Instead, he simply removed the blood matted sergeant rank slide from his chest and held it out for them all to see.

It took a moment for them to realise what it was, and a moment more for them to comprehend what it meant. Terry gasped loudly, disbelief plain on his pale face. Buzz's innocent brown eyes were wide, his brown creased in confusion. "But, but Sarge…" he mumbled. The rest stood in shocked silence. They must have made a strange sight had anyone seen them. A dumbfounded congregation, standing around a brook whose trickling music took the place of a mournful organ, in reverent silence for the loved leader they'd los-

"Oh this is bullshit!" exploded Cat, storming away from the group, her dismissal of Jaune clear as daylight. The rest looked to him expectantly.

They all knew what it meant that he had arrived wearing the rank slide. They all knew their fates. Now they were waiting for him to say something. Something encouraging. Something motivational to inspire his team to accept him as their leader and give them hope to go on.

Something.

Anything.

But Jaune couldn't say anything. He'd held the mantle of leader once, and look what had happened to that. Now here he was again, unwillingly thrust into a position of authority, the lives of those around him balanced on his shoulders. The weight of that alone was enough to crush any attempts Jaune made to say something.

After a few, agonizingly quiet moments, when it became clear that Jaune wasn't going to say or do anything, Naomi spoke up.

"I'll talk to Cat. Try to cool her down." She gave Jaune one more worried glance, then turned and hurried after Cat.

The others watched her go, not knowing what else to do.

"Jaune," began Buzz, "what do we do now?" Buzz's youthful voice was overflowing with fear, worry, uncertainty. But also hope. He really, honestly believed that Jaune had a way to get them out of this. Some plan to put everything right. Damnit, Buzz was counting on Jaune. They all were. But Jaune's throat was still too clogged with the tar of apprehension to say anything.

Eventually, Terry coughed. "We… we should follow protocol," he urged, shooting Jaune an apologetic glance, "if the commanding officer dies in the field, then the 2 i/c takes over."

"That was Ash," said Phil quietly. Another beat passed in despondent silence.

"Then… then whoever has the highest rank should take over," insisted Terry.

"We're all Privates here, dummy," berated Bounty. Then he sighed. "Look Jaune, I like you an' all. You're a good lad. But you're no leader. I'd rather stick it out on my own to be honest."

"You'd never survive," said Phil, coming to Jaune's rescue. "We're out in the wild here. Miles away from the Kingdoms and any civilization. You'd die of hunger or exposure within days. That's if you're lucky. If you're not, the Grimm will find you. Believe me, that's the last thing you want."

"Phil's right," cut in Aiden, surprising everyone. Aiden rarely talked at all, but when he did he always had something meaningful to say. The fact that he was sticking up for Jaune was both humbling and terrifying. "We're better off sticking together."

"Might be so," conceded Bounty, "but would we even survive a day with a kid as our leader? No offense Jaune."

"Sarge would have had his reasons for electing Jaune as his successor," answered Aiden. Jaune wasn't so sure if Sergeant Cole really had, or whether Jaune had just been in the right place at the right time. Or wrong place, wrong time, depending on how you looked at it.

"Besides, who else is there?" asked Phil, "way I see it, Jaune's just as competent a leader as anyone else in this unit."

"I could do it," thrilled Terry. The squad looked the lanky young man up and down. With his greasy blond hair parted in curtains, and his pail, sweating face, he looked ready to fall dead from a cold at any moment.

"I'll pass on the Terrier," mumbled Bounty, ignoring Terry's indignant squawks. Instead he scratched his bulging stomach and pulled on his shaggy beard. "Alright then, I suppose Jaune's as good a fit as anyone here. I sure as hell ain't gonna take the role anyway."

"I vote Jaune as well," added Phil.

"Me too," piped Buzz.

"You have my support Jaune," said Aiden.

"Alright, alright," grumbled Terry.

"What do you say Jaune?" asked Phil.

What did he say? He hadn't even said a single word, yet somehow, he'd been voted in by most of the squad as their new sergeant. He wasn't even sure whether he wanted that role. Being a leader came with so much responsibility. He wasn't sure if he was ready for that again. He'd failed as a leader of a team of four excellent Huntsmen and Huntresses, and now he was going to try to lead a team of eleven—no, nine—no, eight—barely trained soldiers. Sarge and Ash were dead, and Finn had fled into the woods somewhere, abandoning them to their fates. He couldn't handle that kind of pressure.

He was about to tell them it was a bad idea when one thought snagged at the back of his mind. Sarge had chosen him to be his successor. Maybe it was just because he was the only one there, but he could have always told Jaune to give it to someone else. But he hadn't. He'd asked Jaune specifically to look after the section. Him.

Sergeant Cole had once told him that he liked to know everything he could about his troops. If that was true, then he must have gone through everyone else and decided that Jaune was the best candidate. It seemed crazy, but now that Jaune thought about it, it wasn't so illogical. Buzz was too young, too naïve. Naomi was clever, but couldn't control a team. Cat was too cold. Phil too jumpy. Aiden too quiet and detached. No one took Terry seriously. Bounty was a bit of a manic and probably couldn't make a good decision to save his life if him standing up and laughing as he was shot at was any indication. And as far as Jaune knew, no one here had had any experience leading a team. No one that was, except him.

Jaune gritted his teeth. He wasn't the right man for this job. He wasn't a good leader, and besides, he barely knew anything about the army. But was anyone else? Maybe he wasn't ideal. But he might just be the best person they had. And as he looked at the expectant faces around him, he realised something.

They would accept him. They knew he wasn't perfect, but they would follow him nonetheless. Didn't that count for something?

" _Keep them safe_ _Jaune_ _,"_ Sarge had said, _"keep them alive."_ Jaune wasn't sure if he could. But he'd try. For Sarge. For the hopeful faces before him. For himself.

"Alright," said Jaune, "I'll do it."

* * *

"Cat!" called Naomi, struggling through the thick undergrowth. She wacked a branch out of her way, only for it to ping back and smack her in the face. Damn nature. "Cat," she called again.

"What?" the figure of Cat finally halted and spun to face Naomi. Naomi stuttered, suddenly unsure what she was supposed to say.

"Why are you being like this?" she finally asked.

Cat just laughed at her. "Why am I being like she?" she mimicked, "oh I don't know. It's not like we've just been attacked for Oum knows what reasons, been forced to run into Grimm infested woods, lost our commanding officer and the most experienced soldier in this rag-tag group of misfits, almost died on several occasions, and to top it all off, our best chance of surviving lies on the shoulders of a fucking kid! Sorry Nuke, if I'm overreacting a little bit!"

"Look Cat," Naomi tried to reason, "I know things look bad-"

Cat laughed rather hysterically then. "Look bad? No Nuke. Things look bad after Bounty's used the toilet. This is a fucking mess. We're out in the middle of nowhere, all on our own and with no way to contact anyone, unless you happened to bring a scroll with you." Naomi hadn't, and she doubted anyone else had either. A scroll wasn't something you brought on a military exercise if you ever wanted to use it again. By this stage, Cat had advanced on Naomi, her green eye and blue eye to Naomi's brown eyes, and she accentuated each point she made with a finger shoved in Naomi's face. "The nearest place that could have helped us was just overrun, so it looks like we're going to be trekking home on foot. That is, if we can even find home. And can get there without getting killed by Grimm, bandits, or more of whoever those soldiers were. Oh, and did I forget to mention? We're being led by a fucking child!"

Naomi winced, and not just because Cat had used 'whoever' instead of 'whomever'. It really didn't look good when Cat put it like that. "Jaune's not so bad," she tried to argue.

"As a person, maybe not," conceded Cat, "but as a sergeant? Face it Nuke, we're screwed."

"That's not necessarily true." Cat snorted, but Naomi pushed on. "Look, I get why you're mad. We're all a little on edge after what's just happened. But you could at least give Jaune a chance."

"A chance, Nuke? Really? When our lives are on the line?"

"I'm good at reading people, Cat, you know I am. Trust me when I say that Jaune can get us out of this. I saw the will behind his eyes. The fire. It's there. I can see it, even if he can't yet. Just give him a chance. He can do it. He just needs someone to believe in him."

Cat finally fell silent at this. She seemed to consider what Naomi had said, or perhaps it was Naomi she was considering, judging if she could believe her. Eventually, she sighed. "Tell me truthfully Naomi; are you sure enough that Jaune will get us out of this to risk your brother's life on him?" At this, the same panic settled in Naomi's stomach that had suffocated her during the attack. That same, senseless fear of losing Buzz. But she swallowed it down.

"I'm going to have to," she said simply. Cat nodded at that, apparently satisfied.

"Fine then. I'll give the kid a chance. On your head be-"

A twig snapped in the trees, silencing Cat and Naomi. Two rifles flew up as both women froze with bated breath. Naomi heard a sharp intake of breath. She waited. After a few seconds, a bush exhaled loudly and began panting ridiculously. Cat strode forward and reached into the bush. Something yelped as it was lifted clean out of the plant and dumped rudely onto the ground. The thing would have scrambled to its feet and scampered off into the forest, had Cat not stomped a foot down onto its chest, pinning it in place.

"Well, well, well," spat Cat, "look what the rat dragged in." Naomi levelled her rifle at the struggling creature when she saw what it was. Or rather, who it was.

Finnegan fucking Fletch.

* * *

Buzz didn't bother helping as the men of Beta squad went through everything they had. Some odd rations, a few canteens of water, a rifle for each of them, some side arms, a couple of clips of ammo for them all, plus Naomi's Bazooka and the box of rockets she'd managed to bring with her. Buzz barely noticed. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts. Everything that had happened since the morning… flipping heck. Where had it all gone wrong? Buzz wasn't usually one to despair, but when he tried out a smile, it felt weak and watery even to him. He tried to think positive thoughts. There had to be some way to get out of this mess. They could figure this out. Naomi was, like, the cleverest person Buzz had ever known, and not just because she was his sister. And now that Jaune was leading them, he'd keep them safe, right? It would all turn out well, wouldn't it?

Buzz looked at Jaune now. He was silently observing the others argue about something, clearly deep in thought. Buzz could only imagine what was circling around in Jaune's head, but he was sure every ounce of Jaune's mind was dedicated to getting them out of this predicament.

"Who even were those bastards back at the base?" asked Bounty, finally dragging Buzz out of his daze. The other's looked at each other, the question having clearly been on everyone's minds. Buzz quickly copied them.

"Atlas," Phil stated simply. Everyone stared at him. Phil went slightly red. "Well, uh, at least, I'm pretty sure it was. Like, 90 percent sure. Maybe 95."

"Atlas? But, aren't we allies? Why would they attack us?" asked Terry.

"I don't know. But you guys saw their armour, right? And the Bullhead? I know my ships. Those models are definitely Atlas exclusive."

"Could they have been stolen?" contributed Buzz.

"That much equipment? From the frozen war mongers? Not likely," scoffed Bounty.

Jaune shook his head. "The why doesn't matter. At least not right now."

"I agree," Terry claimed, "the important thing is we were attacked, and now we're stranded in the woods with limited food, a couple of clips of ammo per person, and no idea how to get home. That's _not enough_. We need more supplies! We should go back to the base and see if we can salvage anything. There might be some more rations, or even a radio." Yeah, Terry was right. They should go back.

"Going back is too risky," Aiden explain calmly, "the Atlesian soldiers, if that's what they were, will likely have stripped that place of anything useful. And even if they didn't, going back would just as likely led us to more of them as to anything useful." Oh yeah, that was true. The thought of running into more of those faceless soldiers… maybe going back wasn't such a good idea.

"But what about the other sections," pressed Terry, "I saw some of them fleeing the ambush like us. They could still be back there. We could find them, and join up."

"If they haven't already been captured then they're miles away by now," said Bounty, "we might just be walking back into a trap."

"It's worth the risk if we can-"

Just before another argument could break out, Naomi came stumbling out of the woods. Buzz smiled at his older sister, and was about to wave when he saw the look on her face. That wasn't a good look. After her came Cat, and practically being dragged behind her was the dark skinned man who always looked grumpy to Buzz. Buzz couldn't remember his name, but he remembered that he'd been the one to run away from them when they were attacked. From the furious sounds his companions were making, he suspected that wasn't a very popular move.

"What's he doing here?" demanded Bounty.

"Found the little shit having a nice comfy sit down in the trees whilst we were left behind to fight for our lives," replied Cat.

"Ow, ow, let go of me!" protested the man who Cat still clutched by the scruff of his neck.

"I'd have just put a bullet in his treacherous skull and been done with it," continued Cat unperturbed, "but Nuke here was pestering me with her morals."

"Nobody's getting shot here," Naomi fixed Cat with a hostile glare.

Bounty knelt down so he was eye-level with the man. "What's the matter Finnegan? Don't want to see your old squad you abandoned to die!" Suddenly, Bounty ploughed a meaty fist into Finnegan's stomach. Buzz gasped at the unexpected violence. Bounty's eyes were like chips of marble as he contemptuously watched Finnegan wheeze on the floor, as if he were a particularly ugly kind of bug. Where had the laughing old man gone? The grinning maniac? The bearded joker who would burst into song during dinner? The man before Buzz was a complete stranger to the person he'd thought he'd known and fancied as a kind of odd, older friend. This man was scaring Buzz.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," panted Finnegan, "I didn't want to die for Oum's sake. Sergeant Cole would have bloody held us there to the last man. I got scared alright. Is that a sin?"

"It is when it causes us to get overwhelmed by those bastards," snarled Bounty.

"Well you got out of there alive, didn't you? If I hadn't run, we'd have all been killed. I saved your lives. You should be thanking me!"

Bounty let out a dry, hollow laugh. Not the kind of friendly, inclusive laugh Buzz had begun to associate with the man. This laugh made Buzz's stomach curdle and his smile decay on his face. The soured laugh snapped off suddenly and Bounty slammed another fist into Finnegan's stomach. Finnegan doubled over, gasping. Bounty looked like he was preparing for another swing, when a hand appeared on his arm, holding him back.

"That's enough, Bounty," commanded Jaune with far more strength than Buzz had ever heard from him before. Bounty looked back, surprised to hear Jaune speaking to him like that. He challenged Jaune's gaze for a few harrowing seconds before shrugging and stepping back, 'accidentally' hitting Finnegan with his foot as he retreated. Jaune sighed, then came over to Finnegan.

"Sarge and Ash are dead," he stated simply. That sucked the colour right out of Finnegan. "Dead because they tried to keep us all alive. So cut the bull about Sarge making us fight to our deaths."

"Shit Jaune," Finnegan tried to say, "I didn't realise-"

"It doesn't matter," interrupted Jaune, the commanding edge back in full force, "but Sarge told me to keep you safe. _All_ of you. So that's what I'm going to do. But I need to know this: if we're in that situation again, are you going to save your own hide at the cost of all of us?"

Finnegan seemed to struggle with that, though it seemed like a simply answer to Buzz. Duh he wouldn't. "You don't understand," muttered Finnegan, "I have to survive. I have to get home. I've got to-"

"We all have to," cut in Jaune, "and we're all going to. But not if I can't trust you. So here's your options: You either join us, share our supplies and our safety-"

"What?" cried Cat aghast, "him? We'd be better to just dump his body in a ditch and count ourselves lucky for less dead baggage."

"But if you're with us," Jaune went on, ignoring Cat's outburst, "you follow my orders and you don't try to run from us again. Or, you try to brave the forest alone. It's up to you."

Finnegan chewed over what Jaune was offering, weighing up his chances, judging the outcomes. Buzz would have gone with Jaune in a heartbeat, and not just cause they were friends. Being all alone in a creepy, monster-infected forest? No thank you.

Finally, he gave a resigned sigh. "Fine. I won't leave you."

"Good," said Jaune, reaching down a hand and pulling Finnegan to his feet. He then turned back to his squad mates. "I know you're all angry at Finn," Bounty and Cat harrumphed loudly, "but I need you all to be able to get on with each other if we're going to get out of this alive. So give him a chance to make amends. That's all I ask." Bounty grumbled something that would have given Buzz at least a dozen detentions if he used that back when he was in school, but seemed to accept Jaune's verdict, the rage that had gripped him earlier having seemingly faded as fast as it had risen. Cat still looked positively murderous though. "And hey," said Jaune, addressing Cat, "if he does try to run, feel free to put a bullet in his back." Finnegan gulped. Cat grinned manically.

And just like that, the sticky situation was diffused. Buzz wished he had the kind of people-skills that seemed to come to Jaune so easily.

"So, what now Sergeant Arc?" jeered Cat, but the malice had left her voice.

Jaune winced at his title, though Buzz thought it was kind of cool. He'd certainly love a name like that. Sergeant Victorian. The thought made Buzz smile. "We need to decide where to go," said Jaune.

"Back," said Terry immediately.

"Forward," countered Aiden.

"Anywhere that isn't here," added Phil.

"Everyone stop," cut in Jaune. He looked genuinely surprised for a moment when everyone stopped talking and looked at him. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and thought for a moment. "It's too risky to go back to the base, sorry Terry, and I don't like the thought of just waiting around here for Grimm to find us. Our best bet is to start heading back towards Vale and try to reach another military base. There's got to be more of them closer to the Kingdom, right? So we need to head…"

"That way," said Naomi immediately, pointing off into the trees.

"And you know that because…" asked Cat sceptically.

"I know we headed North on the bullhead because the rising sun was to the right of us. So Vale is South of us. It's about late afternoon now, so the sun should be roughly South West in this part of Saunus. Meaning we need to head that way," Naomi explained, pointing again. Buzz loved it when his sister did that.

"Works for me," said Bounty shrugging.

"Alright then," said Jaune, "everyone, pack everything we need. We'll need to move quiet if-"

"Quietly," interjected Naomi.

"Quietly if we want to avoid any Grimm, so make sure everything is secure. When you're done, follow me." What few supplies Beta section had retained were soon saddled between the squad, and they were all soon trekking in Jaune's shadow as he led the way.

If anyone had asked Buzz at that particular moment for his opinion, he would have told them that Jaune looked more like a leader then as they followed him than Buzz had ever seen him look before.

Sure, Buzz was scared. If he was being honest, he was terrified. But he trusted Jaune. Jaune would get them all out of this alive. His confidence was unrivalled in the group, except for maybe Naomi. Yeah, they were safe in Jaune's hands. He knew what he was doing, Buzz was sure of it.

But no one did ask Buzz for his thoughts, so he simply stared at Jaune's back and willed him to feel his determination, his faith. _"I trust you Jaune,"_ he tried to make his stare say, _"I believe in you."_

* * *

Up at the front of the column, Jaune shivered slightly. He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that he was being watched…

* * *

 **Oh dear Buzz, looks like your stare may have had the opposite effect to what you were intending. Better luck next time.**

 **And so, Jaune's story continues, and now we finally know why it's called _Sergeant_ Arc. Oh, and just because Beta section have decided to give Jaune a chance for the time being, doesn't mean they all completely accept him as their leader. We can't make things too easy for our protagonist, now can we? Let's see if I can remember to bring that back into the story.**

 **Anyway, the status quo has been reset this chapter after the last one took an enormous dump on it. It was actually really nice to write a chapter like this - no fights, no big explosions or deaths, just some good old character interaction, development and growth. Oh, and did you see what I did with the chapter title? I am way too smug about those little things.**

 **Anyway, thanks so much for everyone who has read this story this far and an extra big thanks to the huge number of you who have reviewed and contributed to help make this a better story. We've still got quite a way to go, but we have now completed what I like to think of as the first act of this fic (though to be honest, in my head, act one actually finished last chapter, but whatever, we'll celebrate it this chapter). Let's see where act two takes us!**


	8. Chapter 8 - Aftermath

" _The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war"_

 _Douglas MacArthur_

* * *

 **Chapter Eight—Aftermath**

The rest of the day stretched out before Jaune like an unravelling King Taijitu into one, long, weary march. Jaune had never been particularly fit, and although his brief-but-brutal military training helped somewhat, the long walk plus the emotional beating Jaune had received that day left him utterly drained. The events of the day were straining to collapse down on him, but he pushed back against them incessantly. He didn't want to stop and think about what had happened. How, in the space of 10 minutes, his entire life had turned on its head a second time. How the explosion of the bullhead had vaporised those inside and left clawing torched husks of human bodies around it, any one of which might have been Jaune. How Ash, the man who had seemed so cold at first, but who had in the end been the one to save his life from his own stupidity, had looked when he ran into the woods and sacrificed himself to save them all. How Sergeant Cole had lay, his life bleeding from his body before Jaune's very eyes, powerless to do anything to save his leader.

All these things hung poised above Jaune's head, threatening to smash down onto him with the weight of a tsunami and drown him in the horrors he'd seen. Jaune knew that if he opened the gates even a fraction to consider what he'd seen, the rest would come crashing through, and he'd never staunch the flood.

So he locked those treacherous memories behind an immovable mental block. One day, he'd face those demons. But not right now. For now, he focused everything he had on walking, ignoring his blistering feet and his exhausted legs, one foot in front of the other, left, right, left, right, stumble, catch, left, right, left. If he kept forcing his body to move underneath him, maybe that would be enough to keep his treacherous thoughts at bay.

"Nicely done back there." Jaune almost leapt out of his skin when a voice materialized next to him. The first thing he saw when he whirled around was shockingly blue, spiky hair and soft, brown eyes. Jaune relaxed marginally. Just Naomi.

"What do you mean?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"I mean what you did about Finn," she explained, "stepping in there when Bounty was having a go at him, sorting the problem out, keeping the squad together. Spoken like a true leader. Not to mention the fact that it was uncharacteristically brave of you," Naomi said with a roguish grin, "you almost convinced even me that you knew what you were doing."

Uncharacteristically? Despite himself, a smile tugged at the corner of Jaune's mouth. "Almost?" he asked instead.

"Your voice was smooth, but your eyes were too restless, too jumpy. You were clearly far from comfortable with the situation. You should probably work on not doing that in the future."

"Duly noted," replied Jaune.

The two of them lapsed into comfortable silence. Jaune thought about what Naomi had said. Had he really spoken like a true leader? Had he really been brave? Actually, Jaune had been pretty terrified at the time, not least because Bounty was twice his weight, several times his age and mad enough that Jaune wouldn't put anything past him. If Bounty had stood his ground, Jaune didn't know what he'd have done.

"So why did you bother stepping in for Finn?" Naomi questioned, "no one would have held it against you if you hadn't helped the cowardly sod after he ditched us like that." Jaune sighed, and looked back at Finnegan. The dark-skinned man was slouched and grumbling as he walked, the poster boy of misery. Behind him came Cat, a rifle carried loosely (though not too loosely) in her hands and pointed in the vague direction of Finnegan's back. No one had trusted Finn with a gun, but Cat still insisted on playing the guard of Finn. Or slave-driver of Finn, depending on whose perspective it was.

"I don't really know," he answered truthfully, "I guess when I saw Bounty punching him, I don't know, it just seemed so… twisted to me. Wasn't Finn meant to be the bad guy for betraying us? But what Bounty was doing to him… beating up a defenceless person like that… it was wrong. Even after everything Finn's done to us, I didn't want to see that happen to him. To anyone really," Jaune gave a dry chuckle, "I guess you could say I've had a few bad run-ins with bullies."

Naomi inspected Jaune up and down. "You don't say," she noted.

The two fell quiet again, the silence only punctuated by laboured breaths and snapping twigs on the forest floor. Jaune knew that they should really walk in silence. Everyone was painfully aware of how exposed they were, and none of them wanted to encourage anymore misfortune by calling the Grimm down on them. But talking to Naomi helped keep Jaune's mind off other, darker things.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"Of what?"

"Where we are, our situation, what we're doing."

"I think we're pretty screwed," Naomi concluded. Jaune sighed. "But I think there's hope for us yet." Naomi gripped Jaune's arm and made him turn so he was staring straight into her brown eyes. "Look, Jaune. I know you don't have much confidence-"

"What makes you say that?" Jaune asked indignantly. Naomi just gave him that _do-you-really-want-me-to-answer-that?_ look and with a vague hand gesture indicated his entire body. "Alright, fair enough," he conceded, his trusty dignity crumbing once again.

"But I honestly think you're the best chance we have of getting out of this alive," Naomi continued, making Jaune look up at her sharply. "You're something that's increasingly rare these days, Jaune. You're a good person. You're willing to stand up for what's right. What you did with Finn proves that. That makes people willing to trust you, to follow you. Good leaders should all be good people at heart, I think."

Jaune broke his gaze with Naomi. "You're wrong," he muttered, unable to look at her, "I'm not a good person. I've done selfish things before."

"We all have, Jaune," exasperated Naomi, "we all slip up every now and then. Sometimes, at worse occasions than others. That doesn't make you a bad person, only human. Look, Jaune, I'm not going to lie; being a good person isn't the only criteria for being a good leader; not by a long shot. But it's a good start. And you _are_ a good person."

Jaune was stunned by the surety of Naomi's words. How could she claim to know so much about him after only meeting him for the first time a little over a week ago? And how could he have what it took to be a good leader after his first attempt had gone so disastrously?

"Ok," continued Naomi, "I can tell you're not convinced, so let me put it this way. This squad trusts you to lead them. _I_ trust you. So you can either mope around complaining about your lot in life, or you can stop doubting yourself and get on with it." Naomi stopped walking and looked back at the trailing convoy of soldiers behind them. "This squad needs a great leader, Jaune." She turned back to face him. "And I believe that can be you. You need to believe that too."

* * *

They trusted him.

Jaune was sitting in his command tent pondering over his conversation with Naomi earlier. Of course, 'command tent' was a grossly flattering term for what Jaune really had. In reality, it was a sheet of tarpaulin pulled between two trees. Being the squad sergeant had earned him the right to the only sheet of tarp they had. Everyone else was forced to lie in an all-round defence of their position, cold, frightened, and miserable. Jaune sighed. He didn't imagine anyone would be getting much sleep tonight. Terry had apparently decided to instate himself as Jaune's unofficial second in command, and was sitting a little way off, guarding the entrance to Jaune's makeshift shelter. The entrance, of course, being an entire wall open to the elements. Jaune was too deep in thought to argue.

They really trusted him, at least according to Naomi. The thought terrified Jaune. He was now responsible, whether he liked it or not, for the lives of everyone in Beta section. Talk about a heavy burden.

He sighed. He could tell himself however much he wanted that he wasn't ready for this, and he was probably right. But it didn't matter. At the end of the day he _was_ in charge of Beta section, and no amount of whining would change his predicament, of that Naomi had been right for sure. _"This squad needs a great leader, Jaune. And I believe that can be you."_ Ruby had said a similar thing to him once, a lifetime ago. He'd failed to listen to her then, and he'd lost everything he'd loved. He wouldn't make the same mistake here. Buzz, Phil, Bounty, Finn, Terry, Cat, Naomi, they were all relying on him to get them out of this mess. And by Oum he would.

First things first, Jaune needed to make sure they could survive the trip home. That meant surviving Grimm, exposure, and Atlesian soldiers. During their trek they'd seen several of their bullheads flying overhead. Each time that occurred they would scramble under what cover the trees provided and wait with bated breath for the airships to pass by. Whatever Atlas was doing, it was big. Jaune's stomach roiled at the thought of what their presence in Vale meant, but he pushed those thoughts aside. He had to focus on the immediate matters at hand. Maybe later when they were safely back home he could have the luxury to ponder on what heavily armoured foreign soldiers were doing attacking military outposts.

For now though, the enemy soldiers didn't seem like the biggest threat to Jaune. Exposure was. They were pitifully short on both food and water, and there was no way their meagre supplies would last the whole journey back to Vale. Jaune had to find a way to get more. Jaune supposed they could always find water from natural sources, and if they needed food they could hunt for it. But they'd have nothing to purify the water with, and Jaune doubted any of them would be much use hunting wildlife. Besides, they only had so much ammo, and shooting might only attract the Grimm. Plus, Jaune didn't feel comfortable sending out scavenging parties. There was too much that could go wrong, not least of all getting lost. There had to be another way.

Just then, Jaune noticed the electric whirring that he had come to dread. A bullhead. Jaune crouched down, though he needn't have with the camouflaged tarpaulin over him, and he saw the rest of his squad do the same.

The bullhead came screeching by overhead, its belly skimming the tops of the trees. Jaune clutched his weapon, visions of silent assassins dropping down from the vehicle to slaughter his squad flashing through his mind. The next moment the bullhead was gone, ignorant of how close it had come to scraping the tops of their heads. Jaune felt a collective sigh of relief pass throughout the temporary camp.

Come to think of it, why were there so many bullheads in these areas. Jaune didn't know much about airships, but he couldn't imagine that they'd have that large of a fuel tank. They couldn't be going back to Atlas every time they ran out. They must have been getting refuelled from somewhere nearby. That meant that there must be some kind of refuelling depot or forward base nearby. And a forward base would need to have ground troops to protect it from Grimm and humans alike. Ground troops who would need to be fed and equipped.

The first seeds of an idea were taking root in Jaune's brain and beginning to blossom into a plan.

* * *

 **Wow, ok, slightly shorter chapter this time, sorry for that guys. I might have been able to stuff in some more random character interactions, but it just really wasn't needed, and would have been redundant. I'll make sure next chapter is extra long to make up for this chapter's length.**

 **Oh yeah, happy 2018 everyone! Hope you all had fun. My new year's resolution this time was simply to finish this story, so here's to a good year of fanfiction writing.**

 **Anyway, I'm writing this just hours after returning from a trip to the United States, and am completely jet-lagged. Once I'm done with this I'm gonna sleep like a log. Ok, peace out guys.**


	9. Chapter 9 - Attack

**Oh my days, when I said this would be a long chapter, I meant a LONG chapter. Urggh, kill me now. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy.**

* * *

" _Ten men wisely led, will beat a hundred without a head"_

 _Euripides_

* * *

 **Chapter Nine—Attack**

"You want us to attack _that_!?" asked Finnegan, incredulous, "are you mad?"

Beta section had spent a full day and the better part of a second one following the low flying Atlesian bullheads that swept overhead at an alarming frequency, until finally, as the sun began to kiss the tree tops, they stumbled across their best chance of surviving. Their best chance of surviving, of course, being a heavily guarded hostile enemy outpost. Go figure.

The forward base sat hunched in a large clearing, a bullhead launch pad lounging in its centre. Near to the launch pad stood a jumble of metal rods, corrugated iron and wooden boards, which may have resembled a large shed. A temporary command centre, Naomi had deducted. Scattered around the clearing were ordered rows of tents; some small, some large, some huge, but all showing signs of being recently set up. A radio mast rose from the clearing like a spear, likely to boost radio signals all the way back to Atlas. That would be a problem if the enemy were to get a distress signal out when Beta section attacked them. Jaune was flabbergasted at how ruthlessly quick Atlas worked – they had invaded Vale less than three days ago, yet they already had a fully operational refuelling station. It was incredible. Incredible, and very, very worrying.

Looming over the whole outpost, like some granite sentinel, rose a menacing outcropping of rock. It jutted into the sky like a titan's finger, jagged and sheer, more like a cliff really. It was far too steep for a large group to scale without being seen, but Jaune realised that a small team, might be able to get to the top without being spotted.

The clearing was crawling with Atlas soldiers.

"I hate to agree with Flea on anything," admitted Cat, apparently having found a new nickname for Finn, "but we can't attack that many enemies with…" Cat made a vague hand gesture towards everyone around her.

"Don't worry guys," Buzz reassured, "Jaune's got a plan, right?" Eight heads swivelled around to track Jaune. _"Thanks Buzz,"_ he thought. It wasn't that he didn't have a plan. In fact, he had a very good plan; elegantly simple: stage one, find an Atlas outpost. Stage two, attack said Atlas outpost. Stage three, steal whatever supplies they needed.

However, looking at the expectant faces before him, Jaune realised it may have been a little too simplistic. He was going to need to think of something better. He tried to think tactically.

"We need to know more about this place," began Jaune carefully, "how many people there are, what kind of weapons they have, any weak points, that kind of thing. But we can't really tell that accurately by watching from the trees."

"So you're suggesting…" prompted Cat.

Jaune winced. "I'm suggesting we send someone into that base."

* * *

Lance-Corporal Topaz was bored out of his mind. He stood just within the treeline of the forest, his back to the outpost. Thankfully, his shift on sentry duty was coming to an end, but it had been mind-bogglingly dull the entire time. He began walking, making his final sweep of the area he was supposed to be guarding. He could barely see a few feet ahead of him thanks to the dense undergrowth, but he doubted he had much to worry about. He'd be able to hear Grimm coming a mile away, and besides, the first thing they'd done once they'd arrived was to clear the forest of neighbouring unfriendlies. And no bandit tribe would dare to attack an Atlesian outpost. So who else was there? The Valesian army? As if. High Command had told them all they were a pitiful affair, consisting of old men and children playing soldier. They'd have to be more stupid than the bandits to attac-

A twig snapped.

Topaz ignored it, and continued walking. Probably just some stupid animal. Anyway, as per usual, the Atlas army operated on a need-to-know basis, which basically meant that the only thing the common soldiers like him knew was what was on tomorrow's menu. He had no idea why there were in Vale, or why they were fighting its army, but it wasn't his job to question orders, and it certainly wasn't his job t-

A man-sized bush rustled off to one side.

Topaz raised an eyebrow, and finally stopped a few feet away from the plant. He didn't come any closer.

The piece of shrubbery rattled furiously in front of him, demanding his attention.

Topaz sighed, then levelled his rifle at the offending scrub and blasted three rapid shots into it. The bush ceased all activity immediately. Really, did they think he was born yesterday? What idiot would fall for that one-

A meaty fist slammed into the side of his head from behind. The last thing he heard before everything went dark was a gruff voice saying, "Lights out, sunshine."

* * *

"It worked!" crowed Buzz.

"Of course it worked," snapped Naomi, dropping the string she'd tied to the bush, "it was _my_ plan."

Jaune gulped when he saw the still smouldering bullet holes burnt through the plant. He had originally intended to hide behind it and lure the sentry over to him, but Naomi had suggested a better plan. He thanked his lucky stars he'd listened to her.

"Nicely done, Naomi," congratulated Bounty, dragging the unconscious sentry with him. He unceremoniously dumped the body in front of the emerging group of troops. "Now then, who wants to steal this guy's clothes and dress up as the nice unconscious man?" For some reason, no one seemed to want to volunteer for that.

"We should probably make sure it's someone who looks like him," figured Naomi, "if someone decides to randomly check him, we have a better chance of avoiding suspicion if they're similar."

"And that means us girls are off the hook," cheered Cat, high fiving Naomi.

"Take off his helmet," ordered Jaune, "and see if he has some ID on him or something." Terry quickly complied, removing the soldier's headdress and pulling out some kind of Atlas identity card. The squad crowded around Terry, looking from the card, to the body, and back again.

"He kind of looks like… Buzz," said Terry.

* * *

Buzz felt an odd feeling settle in his stomach at the sound of his name. It consisted of a strange combination of nervousness, fear and— was that excitement? Going into an enemy base with nothing but his wits to survive was pretty terrifying, but also thrilling. It was just like those video games Naomi had hated, but which he'd lapped up like syrup when he was younger; knowing it was bad for him but oh, so good! He could actually do something helpful for the team. Something only he could do.

Unfortunately, Naomi. "No, Buzz can't do it," she immediately declared.

"Didn't you just say it should be whoever looks most similar?" noted Bounty innocently, so sickly sweet it made teeth rot, "except for the hair, which will be covered by the helmet, Buzz and this guy could be brothers."

"Well they're not," snapped Naomi, "and forget what I said. Buzz is _not_ doing this," she maintained. She turned to Jaune, hoping to find an ally there. "Jaune, please, tell them. Buzz is too young. _I won't let him do this_."

Wait, what?

Normally, Buzz didn't mind his sister's sometimes… overprotective… nature. She just liked to worry. It was who she was. But something about the way she'd said that last part. Not 'Buzz shouldn't do this', or 'Buzz shouldn't have to do this' but ' _I won't let him do this_.' She'd said it as if it were _her_ decision to make. As if he were still a baby, not old enough to make his own decisions. For some reason, that made him suddenly angry. Naomi wasn't even letting him have a chance to prove himself to everyone. He _wanted_ to prove himself. He wanted to do this.

"Alright Naomi," sighed Jaune, "maybe you're right. I guess maybe I could pass for this gu-"

"I'll do it," cut in Buzz. Naomi barely even graced him with a glance.

"No you won't," she chided, "you're too youn-"

"Yes, I will," Buzz insisted, "Jaune's only a year older than I am. And you said it yourself, I've got the best chance of going unnoticed in there. I can do this. Please Naomi, let me show you."

"Buzz…" tried Naomi, "you can't… you don't…" A hand fell onto Naomi's shoulder.

"Let him try this Naomi." Aiden spoke softly, carefully, but there was a deep weight behind each word. "He's right. You're not that much older than him yourself, and he's just as capable of doing this as anyone else here. I believe he can do this. Let him prove it to you." Aiden believed in him. That was enough to make Buzz's chest swell with pride. Aiden was normally silent, and rarely spoke, but when he did it was always something worthwhile.

"Oh come on, Jaune," cried Cat, exasperated, trying to appeal to their leader, "you can't actually be considering this. He's just a kid!"

"Not anymore, he's not," rumbled Bounty, clapping Buzz on the back in a way that was probably supposed to be a friendly manner, but which just made Buzz's back hurt. "He's now a soldier, and a proud member of Beta section."

"Oh right, because we've been doing _so_ well so far," Cat snarked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Don't tell me you're getting a soft spot for Buzz," teased Bounty.

"Absolutely not," replied Cat, far too quickly, "I just want him to survive this for Naomi's sake."

Buzz droned out the ensuing argument and locked his eyes onto his sister's, sending her a silent plea. If he didn't do this, then someone else would have to, and if they were discovered as a fake, they'd be killed for sure. Buzz couldn't see that happen to anyone. He had the best chance of surviving this mission. It _had_ to be him.

All this he tried to send to his sister telepathically. She didn't seem to understand everything he was begging her, but she seemed to get the gist, because finally, after an age of consideration, she nodded her head once. That was all the confirmation he needed.

"Jaune," he said, silencing the arguers, "I'll do it." Jaune looked at him, then Naomi, then at the infuriated faces of those in front of him. Finally, he sighed.

"Sure," he said, "why not."

* * *

A few minutes later, Buzz was dressed up in Atlas military uniform and was strolling down towards the base, trying to look inco- inconspi- inconspicus-

Trying to look normal.

He pushed the last strands of his purple hair up under his helmet and closed the visor. His heart fluttered in his chest. His palms sweated profusely.

He tried to stop the grin that wanted to spread across his face.

Buzz walked into the outpost and tried to look like he was meant to be there. So far so good. Now he just needed to see what he could find.

He wove between the tents, immediately spotting the rickety hut in the middle which Naomi had said was the command centre. There was a thick, black wire snaking away from it. He followed it, eventually finding it connected to a large generator which rumbled and sputtered reminding him of an old man having a coughing fit. Buzz remembered that Naomi had once told him that generators converted unrefined dust into useful energy. She'd also tried to explain how they actually did that, but Buzz hadn't really been paying attention by that point. Other wires diverged from the ecological monster, but Buzz didn't bother following them all. They were probably just for some small lights or something.

Buzz stared at the generator for a moment longer, then moved on. No time for sightseeing. He had a job to do.

Buzz saw lots of the camp that day. He saw the landing pad, currently unoccupied. He saw a well-worn grass path running between the pad and a large tent, but that was guarded by two men, so he stayed away from that. He saw a row of smaller tents where the soldiers seemed to sleep, and he saw several stern looking men enter and exit the command centre.

But he didn't see anything that could help Beta section attack this place. No secret weak point. No big red button that had 'blow up base' written on it. But that didn't make sense. There was always a weakness. There was always a secret way for the video game character to beat the final boss against the odds. But if there was one, Buzz couldn't find it.

He tried counting the Atlas soldiers he passed, but that soon became impossible. They all looked the same to him. Same blindingly shiny armour. Same bulbous, alien helmets. Plus, every time he started counting, he soon got distracted, and lost count. It was at least thirty.

Buzz was beginning to get strange looks from the other soldiers. He could feel their accusing gazes piercing his back as he walked past. It was getting dangerous. He had to pull out.

Or at least, he would have done, if it wasn't for the bullhead which suddenly appeared over the clearing and began to lower onto the landing pad. Buzz fought the urge to dive to the ground.

"You there!" a voice called. Buzz kept walking towards the treeline. "Hey! You! Get over here soldier."

A weight settled in Buzz's stomach, but he ignored the voice again. _"Please don't be talking to me,"_ begged Buzz. _"Please not me."_

"Are you deaf, soldier?" a hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. Buzz tried not to whimper. "Where's your identification, soldier?" the man demanded.

With wobbling hands, Buzz pulled out the stolen identity card, and handed it over. He didn't trust his voice to not crack if he said anything. The man snatched the card from him and pulled up his visor. Buzz bit down on his tongue and tried to look Atlasy. The man looked down at the card, then at Buzz's face, then to the card, then back to Buzz's face, scrunching up his own face as he searched for any discrepancies.

Finally, he grunted in acceptance. "Alright Lance-corporal Topaz, I'll let you off this time. But if I ever see you ignoring a senior officer again, I'll have you running laps till you puke. Understand?" Buzz nodded furiously. "Now get over there and held them fuel up the bullhead."

No, wait, that wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to get back to the others. The longer he stayed here the more likely he was going to get caught.

But he couldn't very well say that to the frowning man in front of him. So he merely nodded his head and trudged over to the bullhead, where he was immediately shouted orders at by another man. This was going to be a long day…

* * *

"He's been in there too long," hissed Cat. For once, Jaune was forced to agree with her. Buzz had only meant to make a quick incursion, then get out with whatever information he had. But the squad had been waiting long enough for the sun to go blood red and dip below the horizon. Soon it would be pitch black. Jaune and the others hadn't seen any commotion in the clearing, except for the bullhead landing, but that didn't mean Buzz hadn't been captured. He could have been shot as an intruder. Did Atlas shoot prisoners? He might be lying in a ditch right now with a bullet between his eyes. Had Jaune sent him to his death?

"If you've gotten the kid killed on this hare-brained scheme of yours, Arc," growled Finnegan, "I swear to Oum-"

"Don't talk to the Sergeant like that," demanded Terry, ever the loyal unofficial second.

"I'll talk to him however I like, Terrier," retorted Finn.

"Don't think you're getting any favours by siding with me on this, Flea," warned Cat, but Finn just shook his head.

"I don't give a shit about you or your favours," he spat, "would it surprise you so much to learn that I actually care whether the kid lives or not?"

"You didn't when you abandoned us, Flea," snarled Bounty. Finnegan shook his head again.

"I wasn't thinking straight then. I just wanted to survive this. But now you've come up with this insane plan of yours, _Sarge_ , and Buzz might be dead now."

"Shut up, Finn," growled Naomi, "Buzz is _not_ dead." She almost, _almost_ kept the wobble out of her voice.

Beta section were rapidly spiralling into a heated argument, but Jaune couldn't let that happen. Raised voices might attract the attention of one of the sentries, and besides, arguing wouldn't help Buzz. He had to take control of his squad, like a leader was supposed to do.

"Everyone be quiet," Jaune ordered, "this isn't getting us anywhere. We need to save Buzz."

"And what if he's already dead?" sneered Finn. Naomi flinched. Cat clutched her rifle until her knuckles went white, likely wondering how hard she could hit Finn with it without killing him.

"That's not an option," stated Jaune. Finn scoffed, but Jaune kept going. "We need to attack that base. But we can't risk a frontal assault. There's too many of them, and anyway, we might hit Buzz in the crossfire."

"So, what?" demanded Finn, "we go in there and asked them nicely to surrender, maybe over a pleasant cup of tea?"

"No," explained Jaune patiently, "but we do need them to surrender. If we can scare them enough, convince them they're completely outmatched, then they'll have to surrender."

"Yeah, except for one problem," interrupted Finn, "there's only eight of us, and a few dozen of them. So how're we supposed to make them surrender?"

"It's simple. We just need to make them believe we're a bigger force than we are," said Jaune, and he began to explain the plan he'd been conceiving ever since he'd sent Buzz into the clearing.

* * *

Buzz knew he was going to be in trouble with Naomi when he got back. He didn't like to worry his sister, but he had just never found the right moment to escape. It seemed every time he'd finished one job, he was shouted at by another man to do a different one. He'd scurried from place to place around the base, the threat of discovery looming over him at every instant.

But at least one good thing had come out of Buzz extended infiltration. He'd discovered something that Jaune might be able to use against the base. It turned out the large, guarded tent he'd seen earlier was full to bursting of ammo, fuel and dust. He'd been allowed entry when he'd refuelled the bullhead.

And now it was dusk, and Buzz finally found he wasn't being yelled at. Buzz realised this was the perfect moment to get back to the others and tell them his discovery. He began to hurry towards the edge of the base. Once he was reunited with them, they could come up with a plan together and then they could take the base, and maybe they could even-

Light exploded around the perimeter of the outpost.

"No," whispered Buzz.

* * *

Jaune had just finished explaining his plan to Beta section when everything changed.

Suddenly, streams of light sliced through the trees and struck the squad. Beat section instantly shied away from the blinding rays, sinking further into the shadowed shrubbery. Blinking against the burning beams, Jaune watched through watery eyes as one by one, floodlights surrounding the clearing burst into life, throwing harsh, white light around the base, flushing the darkness out and illuminating everything right up to the trees and then some.

Crap.

"What do we do?" hissed Cat, "we'll be seen if we try anything."

A sickening feeling twisted in Jaune's stomach. The chance of his plan failing just quadrupled with the lights illuminating the surrounding trees. Did he risk the lives of his whole squad to save the life of one, or did he condemn Buzz to death by not trying to rescue him? What should he do?

Jaune looked at the frightened faces around him. If he attacked now, some of them might die. But then his gaze fell upon Naomi. Her eyes weren't scared. They were… begging. Imploring. If he didn't attack now, then Buzz would definitely die.

"Stick to the plan," mumbled Jaune, his eyes down. He couldn't face the betrayed looks before him. "Get into position. Wait for my signal." For a moment, there was silence. And then slowly, as if coming out of a surreal dream, they began to disperse, first Naomi, then Phil, then Cat. Soon everyone was moving to their positions in grim, accepting silence, but their blaming eyes burned into Jaune's bowed head nonetheless.

Just as Aiden was about to move off, a thought popped into Jaune's mind. He quickly pulled Aiden aside and whispered to him his idea. Aiden nodded once, and then moved off to fulfil his duty. Jaune hoped it would work. They would need every advantage they could get.

Jaune wouldn't leave Buzz for dead, like he'd almost done to Phil. Not without trying to save him first. He just prayed he wasn't sending his friends to their deaths.

" _Please don't let them die,"_ he prayed to whatever mystic being was watching over them, _"not them too."_

* * *

Buzz stared at the hateful, crushing, mocking lights. There was no way Buzz could sneak past them without being spotted by someone. And worse, if Jaune and the others tried to do anything, they'd be seen and shot for sure. He was trapped, and whilst those floodlights remained on, no help was coming.

Unless…

Buzz remembered the generator near the command tent from earlier. The floodlights must be connected to it somewhere. If the generator was damaged or destroyed, then the lights would turn off, and it would cause enough confusion for him to escape. Plus, it would make Jaune's attack easier. Buzz grinned. Forget reconnaissance, imagine what everyone would think of him if he sabotaged the Atlas base! How cool would that be. He just needed enough dust to cause a big enough explosion to destroy it.

Buzz turned to face the dust tent. He could just make out the two guards in front of it. They looked sleepy and bored. They weren't expecting an attack on their supplies from within their own base. They probably thought they were safe.

Buzz grinned again. Time to put an end to that.

A few minutes later he was on his stomach, inching his way towards the back of the tent. The lights were all turned outwards, so he was practically in pitch darkness. Plus, most of the soldiers had returned to their tents a while earlier, and most of those still awake were guarding the perimeter. But Buzz still hugged the ground closely. There was always the possibility that one of the enemy might happen to look in the right direction and notice him.

When he reached the tent, he pulled up the fabric and crawled inside. Before long, he had a box full of powdered dust. Perfect for an explosion. He crawled back outside and tiptoed up to the generator. He poured the majority of the dust over and around the gurgling machine, then crept away from it, leaving a trail of dust behind him as he did so.

Once he judged he was far enough away from the generator, he dumped the rest of the dust and prepared to light it. That was when he realised he didn't have a match. Oh well.

Buzz pulled out the pistol that he'd stolen from the unconscious sentry and pointed it at the fuse. _"Here goes nothing,"_ he thought, and pulled the trigger.

The gun bucked in his hand. For an instant a glowing red flash appeared where he'd aimed, and then it raced down the fuse like a hare, disappearing from Buzz's view. Well that worked better than exp-

BOOM!

A pillar of fire blossomed upwards. An instant later the seismic clap blasted Buzz off his feet. He smacked his head against the ground and his helmet came flying off. His vision swam. He tasted blood. There was a deafening ringing in his skull, pulverising his brain into mush.

That. Was. Awesome!

When Buzz was finally able to sit up without puking, he saw that where the generator had once stood was now a smoking crater. Better yet, he saw that the floodlights had sputtered into darkness. Soldiers raced around screaming orders at each other, or dragged themselves out of tents looking confused and frightened.

Amid all the chaos, sat Buzz, dazed and frazzled, but somehow managing to smile like mad. At least, he was, until an unfamiliar set of legs stopped in front of him. Buzz followed the legs upwards to a uniformed chest studded with medals, then higher to a set of arms gripping a rifle, and then even higher to the furious face of an Atlas soldier looming over him.

"Purple hair isn't permitted in the Atlas military," the soldier roared, levelling his rifle at Buzz, "saboteur!"

* * *

Bounty, Cat and Phil were almost in position when a fireball erupted from the centre of the base and all the lights inside the clearing went out.

"What the hell was that?" demanded Cat.

"That," decided Bounty, "is the signal. Ten lien I can shoot more Atlas than you."

"You're on," grinned Cat, "get ready to eat shit, old man."

"Old man?" asked Bounty, incredulous, "I'm fifty-two!"

"Basically ancient," smirked Cat.

"Uh, guys," cut in Phil, "shouldn't we, y'know, focus on the mission rather tha-"

"Shut up, Lightning," Bounty and Cat both interrupted, as they opened up on the base.

* * *

"What was that?" asked Terry.

"I… I don't know," admitted Jaune, "that couldn't have been…"

"Buzz," whispered Naomi. Her face was a mix of shock, awe and terror. "It's him."

"How do you know?" accused Finn.

"I just do, ok," snapped Naomi, "we need to act now, Jaune."

Jaune nodded. At least the lights were taken care of. He unclasped his rifle from his back and handed it to Finn. Finn's eyebrows shot up and would have disappeared if he had any fringe to speak of. "I'm trusting you, Finn," Jaune told him, "don't let me down." Jaune gazed at Finn steadily, demanding the truth from him. Finally, Finn nodded once, and took the rifle.

"Let's give them another problem to worry about. Light them up, Nuke," commanded Jaune. Despite herself, Naomi grinned as she hoisted her bazooka and loaded it with a rocket.

"I like Nuke," she muttered, and then she fired the bazooka. The rocket streaked away from her and arced towards the outpost. Somehow, defying all the physics that Jaune knew, it found its mark. The radio mast instantly erupted into flames, a monstrous inferno that reached fiery fingers up to caress the sky. Jaune would like to see them send a distress signal from that.

"Let's move!" shouted Jaune. He raced out of the cover of the trees without looking back and prayed that Terry and Finn were following him.

The double explosion had the exact effect that Jaune was hoping for. Soldiers who had raced towards the initial explosion now raced towards the second one. No one knew what was going on. There was chaos. Panic. And then Bounty, Cat and Phil opened fire, their bullets raking across the clearing, amplifying the turmoil tenfold. Step one was going perfectly. But it wouldn't last. Atlesian soldiers were praised on being the most disciplined on Remnant. It was only a matter of time before they reorganised and turned on their attackers. If that happened, Beta section wouldn't stand a chance.

Hence Jaune's role: step two.

Jaune sprinted from the woods towards the tents. The darkness and the confusion ensured he wasn't spotted as he crossed the open ground. He finally reached the cover of the line of tents, and turned to see that Terry and Finn had indeed followed him.

"This is madness," panted Finn, wide eyed. Terry didn't look any less terrified.

"Just cover me," Jaune commanded. "Make sure they don't notice us."

"Don't… don't worry Jaune," said Terry, looking very worried, "we'll cover you."

Jaune turned back to the tents and drew Crocea Mors. From one of his pockets he pulled out a piece of flint he'd found in the forest, and from another he removed some dry leaves. Jaune struck his steel sword with the flint. A single spark fell onto the leaves.

Several attempts later, Jaune held a lit leaf to the fabric of the nearest tent. It finally caught alight, and before long the tent was merrily burning away. The tents were practically touching each other, and before long the blaze would be able to pass between them. It was time to go.

"Alright, we're done here, let's move," said Jaune.

"Slight problem there, genius," grunted Finn, "they're coming for us."

With a start, Jaune realised Finn was right. The idea had been to set the tents on fire to try to pull soldiers away from their duty to save their possessions, but now Jaune realised the flaw with his plan. Atlas soldiers were racing to the tents to save their belongings. The same tents which they were now hiding behind.

"Oh crud," whispered Jaune.

That was when they were spotted. The first few bullets flew over their heads. Finnegan and Terry blasted back in return, equally inaccurate. Bullets also flew out of the trees, far more accurate, forcing the soldiers to duck behind cover. Naomi was doing her best to help them, but one rifle couldn't stop all of them, and the soldiers seemed determined to punish the intruders who had torched their tents.

Jaune frantically looked around for an escape. The fire was spreading quickly, eating away their cover. Soon the inferno would be too unbearable to stay near, and they'd be forced to flee into the open. But that would mean certain death. Even with covering fire from Naomi, the distance to the trees was too great. Jaune's aura might be enough to protect him, but Terry and Finn would be easy pickings.

Jaune extended his sheath into shield form. "We have to try to make a run for it," he told them, "try to stay in front of me."

"There's no way we're surviving that," exclaimed Terry, "maybe if we give ourselves up, they won't kill us."

"They'd kill us for sure," whimpered Finn.

"Well I'm open to suggestions right about now," said Jaune rather hysterically. The all too familiar fear had begun to pump through his veins like poison, clogging his arteries and making his limbs feel like lead. The blaze was spreading wildly now, sucking the moisture out of the air and making it hard to breathe. "We need to move now, or we die." Finn and Terry whimpered again, but made no further objection. "Alright. On three." God this was a terrible idea. "One." What was he thinking? "Two." They were all going to die. "Thr-!"

An ear-splitting screeching filled the air as bullets whizzed by and slammed into the earth. Jaune dived to the ground, thinking another bullhead was opening up on them with its minigun. He scanned the sky for the familiar shape of the airship, but he didn't see it. Instead he saw a…a…

Was that a drone?

A drone was hovering above him, spraying the enemy soldiers with rounds from its front. It looked somehow… familiar to Jaune, and was it… was it yellow?

" _Oh you cannot be serious."_

Somehow, Aeron Wasp, Phillip's weapon, was not only flying, but also shooting on its own. The cross over the ammunition drum was now spinning too fast for Jaune to follow it, somehow keeping the weapon airborne. The hand crank was positioned vertically underneath the drone, and the grip was pointing towards them. Phil had once told Jaune that there was a camera attached to the handle. Jaune had no doubt that that was pointed towards him right now.

"Thanks buddy," he whispered, deciding to ignore the absurdity of their situation for the time being. "Let's move it!" he yelled at Finn and Terry, who seemed in awe of the hovering life saver. Both of them scrambled to their feet at Jaune's shouting and the three of them scrambled back to the safety of the trees, Jaune going last, his shield raised to protect their backs. He heard Aeron Wasp covering their retreat, but his shield still jerked against him as rounds slammed into it. Jaune gritted his teeth and ran faster.

The trio finally reached the safety of the trees and burst through the undergrowth, gasping in relief. Naomi was waiting for them there.

"Oum, Jaune, that was cutting it a bit fine don't you think?" she asked. Jaune was too busy panting to answer. Naomi turned back to the clearing. "Hey Jaune, come check this out."

Jaune joined here at the forest edge and watched as the outpost burnt.

The plan had worked, if not perfectly, then at least effectively. Soldiers ran between at least three separate fires, desperately trying to put out the flames. Others were torn between fighting their attackers and saving their possessions. Everyone was shouting, but the roaring fires drowned out their voices.

"You wanted to cause some chaos Jaune," grinned Naomi, "I think you did a pretty darn good job of that." Jaune smiled. Somehow, his crazy, insane, maddening plan was working. Now he just had to-

"COWARDS!" screamed a voice from the clearing, somehow piercing through the night. "SCUM! RATS! SHOW YOURSELVES LIKE MEN AND FACE ME!"

"Not likely," whispered Naomi, searching for the source of the voice. Suddenly, her face went bone white and she choked on whatever snarky remark she was going to say next. A second later, Jaune also found the man shouting.

"COME OUT YOU DOGS, OR YOUR MAN DIES!" There, standing in the clearing, was a man dressed in an ornamental uniform dangling with medals, and in front of, gripped by his purple hair, a pistol shoved against his face, was Buzz.

"YOU HAVE TO THE COUNT OF THREE!" Naomi leapt to her feet, but Jaune dragged her down.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, "he's got Buzz!"

"ONE!"

"I'm the leader, it's my responsibility to go down there," Jaune replied.

"TWO!"

"Jaune he won't just give him over. He might just kill you the moment you appear."

"That's a risk I'll have to take," he said, his mind already made up. He wasn't going to abandon Buzz to his fate. He was done with abandoning friends.

"THREE!"

"STOP!" shouted Jaune, revealing himself from the trees. Instantly every rifle in the clearing spun around and trained on him. Jaune sheathed Crocea Mors and walked forward with his hands raised. Every single soldier watched him, the fires momentarily forgotten. Jaune watched all this despairingly. Even if he got out of this alive, there wouldn't be the chaos Beta section needed to beat these guys. He'd lost the one advantage he had.

He kept walking, coming deeper and deeper into the belly of the Beowolf, until he stood in front of the man holding Buzz captive. Buzz looked horrified to see him here, but he didn't look hurt.

"Are you the leader of this place?" Jaune asked.

The man smiled triumphantly. "I'm asking the questions here, scum. How many of you are there in those trees? Are they going to show their faces too or am I going to have to flush them out?"

"They're under orders to stay in the forest, unless I give the signal," Jaune lied, "then they'll attack."

The man spat on the ground. "Alright then, here's what's going to happen. You and your men are going to come out of hiding with their hands up and their weapons on the floor. Then I'll decide whether to kill you all for the trouble you've caused me. Otherwise I'll shoot your infiltrator, and then you. Understand?"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said Jaune, with far more bravado than he felt, "I've got a counter proposal. You and your men all surrender, and I give you my word that none of you will be harmed. If you don't do this, then you are all going to die."

The man looked at Jaune as if he were insane, then threw his head back and laughed cruelly. "You're bluffing! Do you think we're that stupid?"

"This is your last chance," warned Jaune, "surrender now."

"You know what? I don't think I will," leered the man, "in fact, to show you I'm not to be messed with, I think I'll kill one of you right now." The man pushed Buzz to one side, so the man was standing between Jaune and Buzz and raised his handgun in the air. "Why don't you decide who bites a bullet, huh? You," he pointed the gun at Jaune, "or the kid?" he waved it towards Buzz.

"You brought this on yourself," said Jaune. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his hands up high and made a triangle shape with his fingers. The man laughed again.

"If that supposed to intimidate m-?"

A gun shot rang out across the clearing. The man clutched his chest, his face a mask of confusion, and looked down at his torso. "Oh," he muttered, before he toppled over dead.

Jaune closed his eyes as the man fell, but he still flinched as the body thudded against the ground. Metallic saliva seeped into his mouth like lead. Bile rose in his throat like acid. His stomach roiled and heaved.

It shouldn't have ended like this. One more person shot down in their prime. One more life stolen by Jaune's actions. First the faceless soldier in the forest who had shot Sarge. Then anyone who had ended up getting killed in the crossfire of Jaune's plan tonight. And now the leader of this outpost, dead at his feet. How many destroyed lives was he already responsible for? How many more would he have on his conscience before this was all over.

Jaune swallowed. Swallowed down the urge to retch, swallowed down his guilts and his regrets, swallowed down everything. Right now, he didn't have the luxury to be Jaune Arc the person, with all his sympathy and kindness and pity. He needed to be Sergeant Arc the leader, capable only of feeling confidence and surety and fortitude.

One day he'd face what he'd done, he promised himself. One day he'd stop hiding behind his leadership persona and recognise what Jaune Arc the person had become. He only hoped when that day came there would still be a person in there to look at.

Finally, as if the hardening of his resolve had flipped off the freeze button, life shot into action around him. The soldiers around him dropped to the floor, their arms uselessly covering their heads, cowering away from the vulnerability of being exposed. The nearest Atlesian soldier leapt at Jaune, grabbing his arm and pulling him in front of his body as a human shield. His eyes darted around frenziedly, trying to locate the source of the shot. "What the hell was that?" he hissed, shoving his rifle against Jaune's back whilst his other arm wrapped around Jaune's throat.

"Sn-snipers," Jaune managed to gurgle, his windpipe constricted by the soldier. "We've got dozens in the trees." The man's eyes went even wider, and he pulled Jaune's body even closer to his own.

"Tell them not to fire," he hissed.

"If you surrender, I guarantee you won't be hurt. None of you. But if you kill either of us now then they have orders to slaughter the lot of you." Jaune could see the soldier's brain working behind his eyes, judging, assessing, calculating. He knew Jaune might be lying, but was it worth the risk to call his bluff, especially having just seen what had happened to his superior? Maybe, if this man had been in charge of the outpost, he would have held his ground. But he wasn't. That man was lying dead on the ground in a growing pool of his own blood. This man was just plain scared. Jaune could tell by the frantic jerking as he scanned left and right for the unseen threat. This man didn't want to die. And right now, upholding the honour of Atlas wasn't at the top of his priority list.

"All right, all right, I surrender," he said, dropping his rifle and stepping back, "just don't shoot me."

Jaune rubbed his sore throat and looked to the other soldiers. "Do the rest of you want to end up the same way as your leader?" Thirty rifles clattered to the ground, followed by sixty hands rising into the air.

And just like that, the outpost was now in Jaune's hands.

* * *

 **Woohoo, Jaune and co finally succeeded in something. It's about time their luck turned.**

 **Also, not sure if you can see this, but yes, I have changed my username on this website. Everyone knows that every good author has a good writer's name, and... I honestly couldn't think of a better one. From now on, just call me Dust. Doltish Dust. I totally haven't killed the last author and hijacked his story heh heh heh. Why would you ever think that...?**

 **So unfortunately these past two weeks have been really hectic for me. I've had, like fifteen exams at school this past fortnight so I haven't been able to write ANY new chapters, I've only had time to polish this one up a little. Thankfully they're all done now, so I should be able to get back to writing fanfiction pretty soon. I'm really excited with where this story is heading, and for all my complaining about how long and arduous this chapter was to write, it was really good fun at the same time.**

 **Ok, that's enough of me talking. Follow and Favourite if you want to remain in the loop for the rest of this story. I'll see you all in two weeks. Until then!**


	10. Chapter 10 - Respite

**Oh, I'm sorry, did I say the last chapter was a long one? This better not become the norm. I don't think my laptop or myself have the capability to survive that.**

* * *

" _The main thing is to make history, not to write it"_

 _Otto von Bismarck_

* * *

 **Chapter Ten—Respite**

"Jaune, m'boy," roared Bounty, racing out of the trees. Once he reached Jaune he picked him up and squeezed him in a back-breaking bear hug. "That was quite the trick you pulled off."

"Air," wheezed Jaune, "can't… breathe."

"Sorry," apologised Bounty unapologetically, releasing Jaune rom his death grip, "I'm just incredibly pleased your suicidal strategy didn't get you killed."

"Jeez, such faith," complained Jaune. Bounty just laughed, an act which made his beer belly bob up and down. By this time the others had caught up to Bounty.

"Never doubted you for a second Sergeant Arc," lied Terry.

"Uh, thanks Terry, but, just call me Jaune."

"Yes, Sergeant Jaune." Jaune just sighed.

Jaune looked around to make sure Buzz was alright after playing hostage to the enemy, only to see Naomi holding him in a tight embrace, to which Buzz was half-heartedly protesting. When Naomi finally released him, Cat came forward. She punched him on the arm, hard.

"Ouch!" yelped Buzz.

"What were you thinking getting caught and held at gunpoint like that?" demanded Cat. Before Buzz could even attempt to answer, Cat quickly pulled him into a tight hug. "Don't ever scare me like that again," she hissed. Bounty _awwwed_ , and Cat aimed a kick at him.

Last came Phil. His red armour was scorched black in some places, and his black hair was even messier than usual. But he grinned nonetheless. "Jaune! Your plan worked."

"We couldn't have done it without you," replied Jaune truthfully, "speaking of which, what was that thing with your weapon back there?"

"Oh, that," grinned Phil, "that was-"

"Oi! Love birds!" yelled Cat. "You can make out later. For now, we need to deal with these losers." She indicated the Atlas soldiers, all of whom still had their hands in the air and were watching Beta section's exchange with a mix of curiosity and anxiety.

"Right," said Jaune, taking charge, "Bounty, Cat and Naomi, you take the prisoners and put them in their command centre," Jaune indicated the patchwork hut of metal and wood. "Make sure they can't get out. Buzz, you collect all their weapons and ammunition, Phil and I will see what we can do about those fires."

"Wait," piped Buzz, "where's Aiden and Finn?"

"The Flea's run again!" roared Bounty.

"Wait, wait, wait!" yelped Jaune, halting Bounty mid stride to racing off into the woods and throttling Finnegan when he found him. "We need to deal with this outpost first. Need I remind you it's on fire. We'll deal with the others later."

"Fine," grunted Bounty, "but if Flea's betrayed us again I retain the right to shoot him on sight."

* * *

Finnegan was pissed. He watched the others hug and celebrate and kiss each other's butts at their miraculous survival, too wrapped up in their own little self-congratulations to notice that Finn hadn't followed them out of the forest.

Idiots.

One victory here meant nothing. They might be able to gather enough supplies for a while longer, but ultimately, they were still abandoned in a Grimm infested forest with no way to get home except walking. The trek back to Vale would still take weeks, and every meter of that journey was bursting with all kinds of unnamed dangers, most of which started with a G and ended with a section of dead humans. But the fools seemed too preoccupied making out with each other to realise that.

Finnegan considered running away. It might be more dangerous on his own if he came across a Grimm, but he certainly wouldn't be running head first into another firefight, something his companions seemed intent on doing. The question was how likely he would be to come across a Grimm, versus how likely Jaune would get them all killed. It was a close one.

He'd promised Jaune he wouldn't abandon them again, but he'd made a more important promise long before that one, and to a much more important person. It wasn't really breaking a promise if he did it to fulfil a different one. Was it?

Finnegan was still debating his course of action when he felt a presence by his side. They couldn't leave him alone for five minutes without a bloody babysitter? Without looking, he said, "You were the sniper." It wasn't really a question.

"I was," answered Aiden anyway. "Jaune decided he might need a backup plan."

"You were hiding somewhere on that rock?" Finnegan indicated the cliff face that overlooked the clearing.

"Yes." The two men lapsed back into silence, watching the others move around the base.

Finally sick of being silently judged by the wolf Faunus, Finn spat, "Aren't you going down to help them?"

"You need my help more than they do," Aiden replied. Finn scoffed. Aiden said nothing more. He didn't need to.

"How can you just trust Jaune with your lives?" Finn finally exploded. "He's not even an adult yet, and he clearly has no idea what he's doing. How can you just blindly follow him?"

"Jaune's heart is in the right place," answered Aiden, his tone measured and his words precise. "I know he will do everything within his power to keep us safe."

"What, like taking on an Atlas outpost?" scoffed Finn.

"It was necessary to gather the supplies we needed."

"Buzz almost died," retorted Finn.

"And the moment Jaune realised that, he himself entered the base, risking his own life to save Buzz's."

"He had a plan," grumbled Finn bitterly, "he was hardly giving himself up to the Beowolves freely."

"True," conceded Aiden, "but even if he did not, I have no doubt he would still have gone into that base and done whatever he could to save Buzz. Jaune is a good leader."

"He's barely been one for two days. What makes you so sure you're right?" asked Finn.

"Because he cares about his men," answered Aiden. "He would lay down his life for any one of his friends, you included."

"No one's my friend here," Finn muttered.

"If that is true, then it is by _your_ choice, not theirs." The trouble was Finnegan couldn't even argue with that. After a short while, Aiden sighed. "If you really want to leave, I won't stop you. I might even be able to throw them off your trail for a while." Finn regarded Aiden suspiciously.

"What do you get out of it?" he challenged.

"Nothing," answered Aiden, "but… let's just say I know a little bit more about you than the others do."

"What are you talking about?" Finn demanded, instantly becoming guarded. "Nobody here knows anything about me because nobody here gives a shit about trying to find out."

"That is not true," countered Aiden, "you simply push them all away the moment they try."

Alright, fair point. But Finn wasn't here to make friends with these people. If it was in his power, he wouldn't even be here at all. Getting attachments to these people would only make it harder when he eventually had to leave them. And he did have to leave them.

"Finnegan, I know why you want to get home so badly," revealed Aiden, so quietly Finn might have imagined it was just the swish of the wind. "The others may have forgotten, but I still remember the calls you used to make back before all this started. Every evening, without fail, you were on your scroll talking in hushed whispers to someone. They must have been very important to you for that kind of dedication."

"I was talking to my mother," Finn stiffly lied. He didn't like where this conversation was going, and he certainly didn't like what Aiden was implying he knew.

"Finnegan, we both know that is not true."

"How do you know?"

"I… I may have overheard some of those conversations," Aiden admitted. Finn snapped his head to the wolf Faunus. Aiden had suddenly found his shoes incredibly interesting to look at. A sudden heat flushed through Finn's system and his hands curled into fists.

"You were eavesdropping," he accused.

"I did not do it intentionally," Aiden tried to clarify, "I just… well, Faunus ears… it was hard not to overhear…" he finished lamely. Finnegan considered the merits of punching Aiden in the face right there and then. He wanted to – he would have done, except for the fact that Aiden had had this information for at least a while and hadn't yet told anyone. He was clearly keeping it for blackmail, and Finn didn't want to upset that balance just yet.

"If you tell anyone…" Finn warned.

"I do not intend to share this information with anyone, Finnegan. That was not the point of this conversation." Yeah right. "I was trying to say that I understand why you want to leave," Aiden continued, "and to be perfectly honest, if you are going to stab us in the back eventually, I would rather you did it now, when no one's life is on the line, rather than later." Finn didn't grace that with a reply. "Or," Aiden went on, "if you do feel like sticking around, then we can go down into the clearing and join the others. You did help us capture this outpost, after all. It is only fair you receive your dues."

Could Finnegan go down there among the others again? Half of them wanted him dead, and the other half only seemed to tolerate his presence on Jaune's orders. And now Aiden knew the one thing he'd hoped to keep a secret from everyone else. Going back sounded like something from his worst nightmares.

But then again, the alternative made even those seem like fairy induced dreams. Jaune may lead them into another crazy mission, but just _hoping_ he wouldn't come across a Grimm in miles of travel? That was even more suicidal. At least there was safety in numbers. More meat shields to put in front of him.

"Fine," grumbled Finn, and together with Aiden, they walked down into the clearing.

* * *

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA," roared Bounty, leaning back so far he almost fell off his chair as his mirth rocked his entire body. Buzz grinned sheepishly next to him as his comrade laughed his bearded face off at Buzz's story. "You mean you… you mean to say…" Bounty managed to get out between desperate gasps for breath, "that you had to do odd jobs for the enemy!" Bounty fell back into a cascade of cackles, and even Jaune smiled. It wasn't every day he saw his team in such good spirits.

The members of Beta section minus Terry (who had insisted on taking first watch on the prisoners, despite Cat and Bounty's reassurances that they'd reinforced the makeshift prison and that nothing was getting out), were sitting around one of the burning tents, adding logs of wood onto it and using it as a campfire. Most of the fires had been too wild for Jaune and Phil to put out, so in the end they'd simply made fire breaks on either side of the burning huts and tents, preventing the fires from spreading any further and left the blazing structures to burn out.

Now, after a quick scavenge throughout the base, Beta section were sitting with pockets stuffed full of ammunition magazines, a collapsed tent folded next to each of them, and enough food and water to keep them going for at least another fortnight.

"That is too good," chuckled Bounty, wiping his eye. "Then what, you blew up their generator?" Buzz nodded.

"Well I think that was a stupid and risky move," sniffed Cat. "You should have just tried to sneak out. There was no need to put yourself in danger like that."

"No, I think it was clever," disagreed Aiden, "you realised we could not have done anything with those lights still on and used your ingenuity to figure out a way to shut them down."

"Yeah, with the biggest bloody lightshow this side of Remnant!" laughed Bounty.

Cat huffed and Bounty patted Buzz on the back, but Buzz's eyes weren't on either of them. They were locked onto his sister's. "Naomi?" he implored, "did I do good?" Naomi stared at Buzz for a while, her eyes shining with emotions Jaune couldn't even begin to decipher. Then she smiled.

"You did _well_ , Buzz. You would have done 'good' if you'd helped the poor." Buzz beamed. Bounty slapped him on the back again, then said something that cracked Buzz up.

But even though she smiled along with the joke, Jaune noticed that Naomi had a faraway, vacant look in her eyes. He scooted over so he was sitting next to her.

"Are you feeling alright?" he inquired.

Naomi sighed. "I don't really know what I'm feeling anymore, Jaune."

"What's wrong? Aren't you proud of Buzz?

"Of course I am. It's just… every day, for the last sixteen years I've looked after him, Jaune," she explained. "I was the one who first helped him to walk when I was only three years old. I was the one who protected him from bullies at school. And when he got the crazy idea in his head that he wanted to join the army and wouldn't be persuaded otherwise, I was the one who dropped everything and joined him, just so I could keep him safe."

"Wow," whispered Jaune. He'd had no idea how far Naomi had gone to look after her brother. He knew she was eighteen, so that must have meant she'd only just left school when Buzz decided to join the army. She'd had her whole life ahead of her, but she'd given it all up immediately to go with Buzz. If Jaune's respect for Naomi had been high before, it just sky rocketed after this revelation.

Naomi smiled sadly. "You probably think I'm crazy. And yeah, sometimes it was hard to see it through. But I'd have done it all again in a heartbeat if it meant protecting Buzz."

"So what's bothering you," asked Jaune.

"That is," whispered Naomi, indicating with a jerk of her head. Jaune followed where she'd nodded to and saw Buzz telling a joke that had Bounty in stitches, and the rest of the group at least grinning. "He's growing up, Jaune," Naomi continued, "soon, he's not going to need his big sis to look after him anymore."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know Jaune. It's always just been him and me. I guess… I guess I'm a little scared for change," she admitted. Jaune nodded. He understood that feeling well enough.

"Change can be scary," he agreed, "but that doesn't mean it's necessarily bad." Jaune thought back to how big a change it'd been to go to Beacon, and then an even bigger change to leave it. Both times had been terrifying, but both times he'd met some incredible people. Jaune's heart still ached for his friends back at Beacon. Sometimes the throbbing was so small he could ignore it. Sometimes it came out of nowhere, pouncing on him like a Beowolf and crushing his heart in a clamp so hard it was difficult to draw in breath. He wished to the cracked moon that he hadn't done what he did to his team, but then again, if he hadn't left Beacon he'd never had met his section. He wouldn't be sitting around a camp fire listening to Bounty's raucous laughs, or watching Cat try to keep a stern face, or speaking to Naomi about her brother-slash-surrogate son. Things hadn't gone the way he'd wanted, or even the way he'd expected them to. But somehow, despite all that, Jaune could have been said at that moment to have been almost… content.

Jaune realised he'd gone silent on Naomi and hurried to finish his line of thought. "Buzz isn't that much younger than you are, Naomi, and you can't protect him forever either. One day you have to accept he's going to need to make his own way in life. You can be there for him. But you can't decide his choices for him. You have to let him go sooner or later."

"Let him go," repeated Naomi wearily, "a week ago that would've been unthinkable. Buzz, all on his own in the world? No way. But now? After he's just infiltrated an enemy base, fooled everyone there, identified a weakness and taken advantage of it, and all within half a day?" Naomi sighed, but this time it seemed like less a sigh because she had the weight of the world on her shoulders, and more because she was releasing all her apprehensions in one breath. "Thanks Jaune. I needed this talk."

"No problem." Jaune rose to his feet. There was one more thing he had to do tonight. "Oh, and good work today Nuke," Jaune called, walking away. Naomi just smirked.

Jaune left the others to their celebrations and walked over to Phil, who was sitting a little way away from the group. During Beta section's inventory check of the outpost, they hadn't found any scrolls (apparently even Atlas soldiers didn't want to risk smashing their devices in the field), but they had found a single box-shaped, long-ranged transmitter in the command hut. It didn't work after Naomi had blasted the radio mast to which it was attached to smithereens, but Phil had excitedly told Jaune that he could make his own antenna for it. The squad only needed it to broadcast as far as Vale, rather than all the way to Atlas, so Phil had assured him it wouldn't need to be as big as the radio mast had been. Jaune had left him to it, partly because Phil was the only one who knew anything about electronics, and partly because Jaune hadn't really understand what he'd been saying at the time. But now Jaune decided to see how Phil was doing, and perhaps get some of his questions answered.

As Jaune approached, he saw that Phil was sitting down. The device was in his lap, and cluttering the ground around Phil was a wide array of electronics, wires, and odd bits of metal, all ripped off — sorry — _salvaged_ from the outpost. Phil was crouched over the device, a spanner gripped loosely in his hand, clearly in deep concentration. He must be working hard.

"Hey Phil!" he greeted. Phil jerked upwards, his hands flying out and hurling the closest thing to him at the startling voice. Unfortunately, the closest thing to him was the priceless transmitter, and the startling voice belonged to Jaune.

With a shriek Jaune hadn't been able to produce since he was eleven, the transmitter landed against his chest. Fortunately, his hands instinctively wrapped around the device. Unfortunately, that meant he had nothing to break his fall with, and he slammed into the ground, his breath exploding out of his chest.

"Oh crap! Jaune? Is that you? Are you ok? Oh man. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. Are you hurt? Do you need help?" Jaune just groaned. "Right, you need help. Obviously. I'll get onto that." Jaune finally found the weight on his chest lifted and was soon hauled to his feet. To his immense relief, the transmitter wasn't broken. Apparently, he made a better pillow than he'd thought.

"You were asleep weren't you," Jaune managed to groan. Phil at least had the grace to look sheepish.

"Sorry Jaune. It's just, trying to adapt this is harder than I thought. I mean, much harder. This was designed to transmit a signal to the radio mast, but, uh, well, we kinda blew that up. I'm trying to redesign it to send out short range signals, but it's hard. It doesn't help that I don't have the right tools on hands. Or reliable materials. I've literally had to rip some of these pieces off other things. Nothing fits as it should. I'm having to improvise on most of this stuff. I might be able to crack it eventually, but it's gonna take a hell of a lot more time-"

"Phil," interrupted Jaune, "it's alright. You can call it a night. We don't have to send a message right now. We'll do it another time." Phil visibly slumped.

"Thanks Jaune. I needed a rest anyway." Jaune sat himself down next to Phil and handed him a chocolate bar. Spoils of war. Phil's eyes lit up, and he snatched the treat out of Jaune's hands, wolfing it down like a starving man, before moaning in pleasure. Jaune just laughed.

"Actually, can I ask you about something?" Jaune asked.

"Sure," mumbled Phil through a mouthful of chocolate.

"What happened back there with your weapon? We were trapped against those burning tents, and then out of nowhere I saw Aeron Wasp. Except it was… flying." Phil just grinned, revealing chocolate stained teeth, then pulled out said yellow weapon from where it was attached to his back and began stroking it affectionately.

"I did say there was more to her than meets the eye. She's amazing, isn't she? Aeron Wasp is, I mean. I designed her so she can hover above the ground. Like a drone. That's where I got the idea actually."

"A drone—? Phil, what… why… how can that thing even fly?"

"See this cross? Around the ammunition drum? That can spin, creating upthrust. Making it fly. Well, not completely. She's too heavy for her weight to countered by just that. So there's also some gravity dust encased inside her armour. Makes her light enough to fly. And light enough to swing if I need to melee."

"But how can you even control that? Do you have a remote? A controller?"

"Even cooler," grinned Phil, "it's my semblance." Jaune's mouth plopped open like a fish. "It allows me to communicate with machines. Control them, y'know. The more familiar the device, the easier it is to interface with it. That's why I can control Aeron Wasp from so far away."

Jaune considered what he'd learnt, mentally sliding the jigsaw pieces into place. No one would ever call Jaune perceptive, but the aura, the weapon, and now a semblance… Phillip Blitz had without doubt been at least a Huntsman-in-training at some point, even if he wasn't one now. Just like Jaune. So what had happened to him?

"You went to a Huntsmen academy, didn't you," said Jaune.

"Yeah…" began Phil uncomfortably, "I went to Beacon. Like you, I'm guessing." Jaune blinked. He hadn't realised his time at Beacon was written so plainly across him.

"Why didn't you become a Huntsman?" he enquired.

"Decided that kind of life wasn't for me. Joined the army instead as a combat engineer, as that's all I seem to be good at."

"But why? You had the chance to be in one of the highest regarded occupations on Remnant. You could have been a hero. What on Remnant caused you to give that up?"

Phillip glanced down. "That's, uh… that's a touchy subject. I don't really want to talk about it right now." Jaune didn't want to drop it. When he'd left Beacon, he was sure he'd been cutting off all ties to his old life. But now it turned out that Phil had been in a similar situation to Jaune only a few years ago, and Jaune was dying to know more.

But Phil was first and foremost his friend, not some encyclopaedia. If Phil didn't want to talk about it to Jaune, then he had his reasons, and Jaune would respect those.

So instead Jaune switched decided to ask Phil about another of his burning questions. "How much do you know about aura?" he enquired.

"Not a huge amount. I mean, no one really does. It's a shield-type thingy that can protect you from blows. And heal wounds. But apart from that, we don't really understand it. Some say it's connected to the soul. Some say it _is_ the soul. It's connected to semblances, but again, no one's really sure how."

"Why don't all people just have aura? I mean, if Grimm are such a threat, wouldn't it make sense for ordinary people to have it?"

"Well, yeah, that kinda makes sense. But I think it's a psychological thing. Most people don't want to think about how unsafe their lives are. They'd rather the Huntsmen and military deal with the Grimm, while they can go about their normal lives, pretending that nothing is amiss. Aura would just kinda ruin that illusion."

"But still," argued Jaune, "it seems kind of pointless not to have it."

"Yeah, maybe. But don't forget not everyone can activate aura. You need another Huntsman to do that, and even then, not everyone is able to do it. Frontier towns tent not to have a Huntsman to activate their auras. And lots of Huntsmen charge money for it anyway, so most people don't bother."

"What about in the army then?" questioned Jaune. "Surely it would be an advantage to have people immune to bullets in it. Why doesn't everyone have it?"

"Well… most people who have aura end up as Huntsmen or security guards. The army doesn't appeal to a lot of people."

"But why don't people who join the army have their aura unlocked for them?"

"They try," stated Phil. Jaune looked at him, confused.

"Then why don't the others have aura?"

"Well… remember, we don't really know a huge amount about aura but… for some reason, a person's aura becomes irreversibly locked away if they don't get it activated before a certain age. The closer to that age the person gets, the harder it becomes to unlock it. The cut off's normally around sixteen. That's also why so few people have aura."

"But... I got mine unlocked at seventeen," admitted Jaune.

"Really? Huh, that's late. Still, it's not unheard of." Jaune sat back and mulled over what Phil had revealed. He'd never heard that aura couldn't be unlocked in adults before, but then again, he'd also never even heard of aura until he went to Beacon, so he supposed it wasn't that farfetched. Was that part of the reason why people were trained to be Huntsmen and Huntresses at such a young age?

After a short pause, Jaune asked, "What about Buzz? He's only sixteen. Could we unlock his aura?"

"Already tried it," Phil informed him. "Or at least, the army has. Everyone who joins the military gets tested for unlocking aura. Buzz's aura must've been locked away slightly earlier than most people. It kinda sucks, but what can you do?"

"Yeah…" Jaune trailed off. Learning that he and Phil were the only people in the section with aura somehow felt… wrong. How was it fair that he should have his own personal forcefield whilst the others could be taken down in a single lucky hit. That wasn't to say he was invincible either, but at least he had a better chance of surviving if, say, he was shot. The others meanwhile wouldn't even stand a chance. That bothered Jaune.

Jaune fell back into contemplative silence. Eventually, Phillip asked him a question about his personal life, and Jaune decided to put aside his mulling for another time. For now, he just talked to Phil, like friends were supposed to do. They didn't talk about the long trek they still had to complete, they didn't talk about how their plan had almost failed, or how Buzz had almost died, or how any of them might still die yet. They talked about something random and inconsequential, simply enjoying each other's company like normal people were supposed to do. Jaune had to be honest; compared to fretting about leadership or worrying about what he should do next, just chatting about nothing was a refreshing change. Jaune decided to enjoy it for just a little longer.

* * *

Back around the campfire, Aiden finally began to relax. With the exception of Finnegan, the squad were in a better mood than they had been in for an age, and Aiden was content to simply sit back and watch the others trade banter.

Though having said that, ever since Buzz had replaced Terry on sentry duty things hadn't been quite so… well…

"I've got another one," Terry gleefully announced, and even Aiden cringed in preparation. "What did the vegan zombie say? The vegan zombie. Anyone? Graaaaaaiins! Get it? Grains. Like brains. Ehhh?" A chorus of groans was Terry's only applause.

"If I hear one more god damned joke out of your bloody mouth, Terrier, so help me…" warned Cat.

"What's wrong with my jokes?" complained Terry.

"Except for the fact that they're deader than a rotting sardine in a bag of salt, you mean?" sniped Bounty. "Why're you trying so hard to make a joke, anyway? I thought you were the kind of guy who wouldn't recognise a sense of humour if it bit you on the arse."

"That's not true," defended Terry, "and besides, at least I'm trying to be more fun."

"Don't know about that," mused Bounty, "it's kind of creeping me out. I think I prefer the version of you with that rod rammed up your arse."

"What!" squawked Terry. "I don't have a rod rammed up my arse!"

"You do play by the rules a little much," offered Naomi.

"You are a bloody arse-kisser," contributed Cat.

"You sucked up to Sergeant Cole real nice and snug, and now you're doing the same to Jaune," pointed out Bounty.

"That's not… I don't… I'm just trying to do well in the military, that's all."

An idea suddenly came to Aiden. He had once overheard a conversation – he had good ears, alright – between Sergeant Cole and Jaune, where Sarge had told Jaune he liked to know everything he could about his men. They were not all commanding officers, but knowing more about each other could surely only help to tie them closer together as a unit. He decided to push a little further and see if he could get his comrades to open up around each other.

"Why?" he asked Terry. "Why are you trying so hard to impress the section commanders?"

Everyone around the campfire suddenly became very interesting in where this was going. They leaned in expectantly, surrounding Terry with a wall of curious faces. Terry glanced left and right at the inquisitive faces pinning him to the spot, none of them offering any sort of relief for him. His face began to burn bright red and his hands started fiddling with the toggles of his combat jacket.

Bounty, sensing his discomfort, immediately leapt on his prey. "Come on. You can tell us."

"It's… it's a stupid reason really…" Terry mumbled.

"But…" prompted Cat.

"I'm… I'm trying to impress my dad."

His father? Interesting. "Why do you want to impress him?" enquired Aiden.

"Well, he was in the military too, an—"

"Your dad was a soldier? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, now does it?" joked Bounty.

"Was?" asked Naomi, instantly picking up Terry's use of the past tense.

"Yeah. He got injured early in his career. Lost his hand to a Creep. He was fine, but he couldn't use a rifle after that, so the army discharged him. Honourably, of course. He even got a medal for his service."

"So what, you decided to follow in your old man's footsteps or something?" asked Cat.

"Not… not quite." Despite Terry's hesitancy, Aiden sensed this story went deeper. He did not want to force Terry to open up, but if he could persuade him to tell the tale, it might bring him closer to the rest of the group.

"What happened with your father?" Aiden pressed gently.

Terry looked at him for a while, perhaps trying to judge if Aiden's intentions were true or not. Eventually he sighed and continued. "When my dad was forced to leave the army he… he didn't take it so well. Even though he was injured, he still thought he should have been protecting his kingdom. He… kind of became distant. He didn't really want much to do with me. It wasn't so bad," Terry quickly added as Naomi made to say something. "I still had my mum. But nothing I ever did seemed to impress him, or even make him notice me. So… I decided to make him proud by joining the army myself and doing what he always wanted to do."

A stunned silence fell around the campfire, broken only by the crackle of the burning tent between them. Slowly, quietly at first, Bounty began to chortle. The chortle became a chuckle, then the chuckle became a laugh, then the laugh became a full-blown fit of hysteria.

"What's so funny?" demanded Cat.

"You joined the army… to impress your piss-poor father!" cackled Bounty. "Now that's an admirable reason if I ever saw one. I'd drink to that if there were a drop of alcohol around this place."

"You're crazy, you know that?" dismissed Cat.

"That I am, my dear," smirked Bounty, tipping an imaginary hat in her direction. Cat made a retching action.

"Why did _you_ join the army then, Bounty?" asked Aiden realising he'd gotten everything he was going to get out of Terry for one night.

"My life before the military was shit, so what the hell did I have to lose?" Bounty shrugged. "There's not much more to it than that. What about you, Cat?"

"They said to me I couldn't join the army; I said fuck you, and did."

"The cat's got claws I see," grinned Bounty. He dodged as Cat's foot swung out towards him. "Who's 'they', anyway?"

"My family, my friends, society. Whoever and whatever tried to tell me I wasn't good enough or strong enough or worse, wasn't allowed to do what I wanted to do. I've got no time for someone telling me what I can and can't achieve. Your turn, Nuke."

"Simple. I joined to protect Buzz of course. Do you really think I'd have let him face the world alone?"

"Or let the world face him!" laughed Bounty. "You ought to be careful when you take your eyes off him, he might feel the need to blow up something again just for kicks!" Naomi frowned, then paused, as if uncertain how seriously to take Bounty's words, before finally deciding better safe than sorry and hurrying off to where Buzz was standing sentry.

"You're an ass," scolded Cat to Bounty, who was now besides himself with laughter at Naomi's reaction. "Anyway, you're up, Aiden."

The wolf Faunus smiled. This was working perfectly. "I couldn't find work anywhere else. Not everywhere would accept me for… well…" Aiden indicated his silver tail with a swish. The group shifted uncomfortably, and he knew why, but Aiden had grown used to it a long time ago. It was a simple fact of life. Birds flew, fish swam, and people were racist to Faunus. That was not to say _all_ people were racist to Faunus, or even that those who were should be punished. It simply was what it was. "The army seemed like my best chance of making an impact in the world, however small or insubstantial," he finished. Now for the real challenge. "What about you Finnegan?"

Finnegan looked up at the others for the first time that night, and his face slid into a sneer. "Keep me out of your little games."

"Oh no you don't, Flea." Bounty smiled with a shark's viciousness. "We all had to tell our reasons for joining the army, now it's your turn."

"Like hell it is," Finn muttered.

"Was it for someone?" pressed Terrier, "a parent, a friend, a lover?"

"A lover? Of Flea?" scoffed Cat. "Not likely."

"Piss off, Cat," Finnegan growled.

"I bet you haven't even been on a date before," she taunted, driving her knife deeper. "You'd have to be blind to even consider meeting someone like you for dinner."

Uh-oh. This was not going the way he had wanted it to go at all. "Take it easy guys," Aiden tried to intervene.

"As a matter of fact, I have been on a date before, thank you very much," retorted Finnegan, utterly ignoring Aiden's plea for peace.

"Ha! As if," goaded Bounty. "Where's your proof?"

"I don't have to prove anything to you," countered Finnegan.

"Just as I thought," baited Bounty, turning to Cat and pretending to ignore the enraged Finnegan. "He's never been in a relationship."

Finnegan's fingers were crunched into fists so tightly his knuckles seemed to creak. "That's enough, everyone," Aiden warned. "This isn't go—"

"Fine!" Finnegan yelled. "You want evidence? Here!" From one of his pockets he yanked out a photo and held it out for Cat and Bounty to see. The colour was faded, and there were two, well-worn creases crisscrossing the little square of paper, but the thing on it was unmistakable. It was a brown haired, very pretty, young woman. The person he'd been talking to each and every evening.

For a moment, the two doubters sat in silent disbelief, while Finnegan lorded over them triumphantly.

"How much did you pay her?" scoffed Bounty.

* * *

"We'd better head back to the others soon," said Phil. "They might think we've died if we stay any longer."

Jaune nodded his head in agreement. "Come on then," he said, leading the way back to the others. As the two of them made their way towards the fire, raised voices drifted over to them. They were still too far away to make out what they were saying, but it was clear those voices weren't happy. Jaune hurried to see what had caused the commotion.

As he got closer, he saw Finnegan on his feet, his fists raised in fury and his face red with rage. He looked ready to throw himself at Bounty, but was barely managing to contain himself. Bounty, for his part, was still seated, his face a mask of cool indifference, but Jaune could tell by the tension in his body that he was ready to leap to his feet at a moment's notice.

"Don't you dare talk about her like that!" screamed Finn, jabbing an accusing finger at Bounty. "Don't you fucking dare!"

"You're a fucking idiot Flea, if you really believe the shit they tell you about love," growled Bounty.

"What on Remnant is going on?" demanded Jaune, stepping between the two of them. Jaune didn't like Finn's rabid look, or the way Bounty's hand was inching towards his rifle.

"That bastard called Jasmine a whore!" accused Finn, spittle flying.

Bounty just laughed cruelly. "Do you really think your precious _Jasmine_ is going to remain faithful all this time you've been away?" he leered. "Women wouldn't know the meaning of faithful if it bit them on the tit."

"What the fuck, Bounty?" demanded Cat, leaping to her feet, but Bounty ignored her, instead focusing his attack on Finn.

"You think you've found true love, Flea? Well guess what; there's no such thing. It's a fairy tale made to shut children up. If you think otherwise you're just kidding yourself. Your girlfriend is probably sleeping with another man right now."

"Shut up," spat Finn, so tense his whole body was shaking. "Just shut up! You don't know anything about her. Anything about me. None of you do!"

"Oh yeah?" sneered Bounty. "And what makes you think you two are different? What makes you think you're not going to break up in a month's time, heartbroken for a week before you move on and forget about her? What makes you think your _girlfriend_ will ever want to spend her life with someone like yo-"

"She's not my girlfriend!" screamed Finn. "She's my wife!" The entire camp went dead silent. Even Finnegan looked surprised to have said that. The sudden statement shut Bounty up for all of three seconds, before slowly, he shook his head.

"Then you're an even bigger idiot than I thought," he said.

Finnegan snarled, his face contorting into that of a wild animal. Jaune saw his hands rising as if in slow motion, twisting to resemble claws. Jaune knew what would happen next: Finnegan would leap at Bounty, regardless of whether Jaune was in the way or not. Bounty would retaliate in kind, and the two of them would degrade into a fistfight not even Jaune would be able to stop.

Finnegan crouched down, ready to pounce…

And suddenly a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Finnegan, stop. Fighting won't do us any good, and it won't change his opinion. Take some time to cool off before you do something you'll regret later." Aiden's smooth tones froze the seething Finn in his place. He took a shuddering, deep breath. And then another. And then a third. And soon his breathing no longer rasped out of his throat in tearing pants and his dark face lost some of its feral quality. He knocked off Aiden's calming hand, shooting everyone around the camp with a scything glare.

"Stay away from me," he growled. "All of you." With one final, detesting glance in Bounty's direction, he spun on his heel and stomped away, muttering something that had the words "bloody", "son of a" and a host of other swear words following it.

The camp collectively sighed in relief, and Jaune nodded his thanks to Aiden's tactful handling of the situation. Bounty rose to his feet and began to walk away.

"Hold on," demanded Cat, "where do you think you're going?"

"Away," grunted Bounty, without stopping. "I need to think."

"I'm not done with you yet, you misogynistic pig!" Cat tried to yell, but Bounty didn't even look back. Eventually, Cat gave an almighty huff, crossed her arms and plonked herself back down into her chair. "The fuck was that about?" No one had an answer for that. "I've had enough of talking for one night. I'll relieve Buzz of sentry." The squad watched Cat trudge away from them.

"I apologise, Jaune," said Aiden. Jaune looked at him in surprise. "It was my fault we were talking about why we all joined the military. I had hoped it would bring us closer together. I did not expect it to go the way it did. I am sorry."

"Don't worry about it," brushed off Jaune. "I don't think anyone could have expected it to go that way."

The squad lapsed into uncomfortable silence. Finn and Bounty's argument had clearly shaken the team up, and more so Jaune. They'd just accomplished an incredible feat and had taken the first steps to actually surviving this nightmare. Jaune had hoped that would have strengthened the bonds between his squad, but three out of his eight men had just stormed off. That wasn't an encouraging sign.

After a while of tense silence, the squad heard Buzz bumbling back towards the bonfire. "I leave you guys for ten minutes and you're already trying to kill each other," he joked, "I thought we were fighting the war against Atlas, eh?" Buzz's humour slammed against the sombre atmosphere surrounding the group like smog and dropped dead faster than an electrified fly. Buzz faltered, as if he hadn't expected the crew's merriment to dry up so quickly. "Um, are we still telling jokes around the campfire?"

"Sorry Buzz," apologised Naomi, getting to her feet. "I think I've had enough for one night. I'm going to turn in." The others mumbled their agreements and began to disperse to their hijacked tents. Buzz squealed in horror as his audience rapidly disappeared before his very eyes.

"But, but I've got a really good one," he tried, chasing after the retiring troops, "did you hear about the hungry clock? Anyone? He went back four seconds! Get it? For seconds. Guys come on…"

Jaune was soon left sitting alone at the fire, smiling. Even if the night had taken an unexpected downturn, things were still finally beginning to look up. They had food. Water. Ammunition. Even tents for everyone. At some point he'd have to decide what to do with the prisoners he'd captured, but that was a problem for tomorrow. For tonight, Jaune was content to simply lie back against the ground and close his eyes, the fire warming his side and the starry sky sheltering his head.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, Jaune fell asleep smiling.

* * *

 **Funny story, when I first wrote this chapter, it was maybe half this length. I just couldn't leave a good thing be, could I...?**

 **So this chapter is much calmer than the last one, and definitely** **very dialogue heavy, but there's actually a hell of a lot of content in here. We see a little bit into the reasoning for Finn's behaviour, we see a bit of Phil's backstory, we get Naomi's motivation etc. etc. But what I think is the most important part of this chapter is simply the conversations between the characters. Some of my favourite moments in the RWBY show aren't the massive, loud, in-your-face fights (though those are awesome), but rather when there's no immediate danger and the protagonists just talk, or chill out, or trade stories, basically just being friends. The first two examples which come to mind are in volume 2 when team RWBY plays a board game and in volume 5 when Yang and Weiss reunite with RNJR and they just relax together around dinner. For me, it's the chemistry between the characters that really make me enjoy watching them, and it makes the loud, action sequences even better by having those quiet moments to contrast them with. That's the essence of what I was trying to do with this chapter. No fights, no near-death encounters, just some friends(?) spending time with each other.**

 **I don't know, do you agree with what I'm saying, or am I just going crazy? Leave a review to let me know if you enjoy these quieter moments and want more of them between the epic fight-filled chapters, or if you'd rather I stopped rambling and got on with killing things.**

 **Now, onto what I'm sure is going to be a controversial issue; aura. I know I went ahead and added a bunch of law that is technically non-canon, but the explanation of aura in the show is so vague I kind of had to fill in the blanks myself. They never do explain why normal civilians don't have aura (which would be the logical thing for them to have), so I just gave my own reasons as to why they don't have aura in the show. For now, we'll stick with what I believe to be the mechanics of aura, at least until the show undoubtedly comes along and retcons it. Sigh. The trials of being a fanfic writer...**

 **Let me know if you guys are still enjoying the direction this story is going in, and if you have any extra information or ideas about aura or anything else that might help me write this story, feel free to share them with me either by PM or a review. That would be much appreciated.**


	11. Chapter 11 - The Cost of Complacency

" _Old men declare war, but it is the youth that must fight and die"_

 _Herbert Hoover_

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven—The Cost of Complacency**

The next day everything went to hell.

Jaune woke early to a navy-blue sky, tinged with pale yellow light spilling over the horizon. The air was a frisky cold, the ground was firm and supportive, and Cat's manic face was shaking Jaune awake by the collar.

"Wuh… Cat? Wha… what're you doing?" he mumbled. For the first time he noticed the rifle in her grip and the dark bags under her eyes. "Have you been on sentry duty all night?"

"Doesn't matter," she snapped. "Listen."

Jaune listened. What was Cat playing at? What was this about? Why did she insist on waking him at this ungodly ho—?

A howl pierced the dawn. Jaune's blood froze. The howl was answered by a screech. And then the screech was answered by a growl. And then the growl was answered by a roar. And soon the entire forest was bursting with sounds that grated Jaune's ears and caused his heart to miss several beats.

Grimm.

Jaune was on his feet in an instant, his rifle snatched up into his hands. No, no, no, no, no. This couldn't be happening.

"Get the others up," he ordered. Cat nodded once, then was off.

Jaune took a moment to throw the sling of his rifle over his shoulder. They had, a couple of minutes max before all hell would befall this camp. They had to leave. They needed to run right now.

Jaune started sprinting towards his section's tents. As he ran, his brain kicked into overdrive. Why were the Grimm attacking? One or two stray Grimm falling across their camp, he could understand. But from the sounds emanating from the woods it seemed like a whole host of hell had discovered the clearing. How? Grimm were supposed to be attracted to negativity, weren't they? They hadn't been that disheartened last night. In fact, Jaune would have sworn they were all in higher spirits than they'd been since the whole fiasco began, even with Bounty and Finn's little stunt. So what was attracting the Grimm?

The realisation slammed into Jaune like a truck, making him stumble. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Jaune picked up the pace again, but now in a different direction. Cat would have to get the others up. He had his own mission to complete.

Jaune dashed towards the command centre-turned-prison. He reached the door, seeing a sturdy padlock keeping it shut. He didn't have time to find the key. Instead, he drew Crocea Mors, the blade singing as it was unsheathed. Jaune swung the ancestral blade down onto the wood holding the lock in place: once, twice, three times. On the third time the wood erupted outwards, showering Jaune with arrow-like splinters, all of which his aura easily deflected. The door flew open, no longer held shut, revealing the inhabitants to Jaune, and Jaune to the inhabitants.

Jaune realised he'd been right in his guess. Even without being a Grimm, he was immediately hit with a wall of frustration, fear and hatred emanating from the Atlas prisoners like waves of negativity.

Jaune didn't have time for subtlety. These people were attracting the Grimm, and Jaune didn't have the manpower to protect them. If the Grimm got through, they'd slaughter the defenceless prisoners like pigs.

"GRIMM," he yelled. "RUN!" The prisoners didn't need to be told twice.

Jaune sidestepped as a cascade of Atlas soldiers barrelled past him out the door and broke for the forest. Suddenly, a chorus of hissing and spitting rose from Jaune's side. He spun around, watching with horror as the first wave of Grimm burst out of the forest. Jaune recognized them from the rare lessons of Professor Port he hadn't fallen asleep in. They were a pack of Creeps; disgusting, two legged lizards bounding into the clearing with their awkward gait. There were at least two dozen of them, all with black skin, white bone armour and hateful red eyes. And all were running straight for the defenceless Atlas soldiers.

Jaune didn't think. He simply opened up with his rifle, desperate to give the soldiers a head start. Jaune realised with a sickening feeling that he shouldn't be wasting his ammo like this. They were enemies, and if the soldiers did survive this, then in all likelihood they would just return to fight Vale again. Every Atlesian life he saved here might be one more Valesian life lost.

Jaune's finger almost, _almost_ , came of the trigger, but then with a flush of disgust he renewed his firing. Jaune couldn't just let the Atlas soldiers die in cold blood. First and foremost, they were humans, and when Jaune had signed up to be a huntsman, and then later a soldier, he'd done so to protect people. All people. He couldn't very well give the Atlas soldiers their guns back, but he wouldn't let them die like this either. So he kept shooting.

The front few Grunts fell under his fire, but more just kept coming, crawling over their dissolving brethren and bearing down on the fleeing soldiers. One gun couldn't possibly hold them all back.

Good thing it wasn't just one gun then.

Jaune heard eight rifles begin booming behind him, and this finally seemed to have the desired effect. More and more Grimm fell. The bodies began to pile up, slowing the survivors and revealing them to the humans' firing for longer. Finally, the last Creep fell to the onslaught, and Beta section's guns fell silent at last.

"Thanks guys," said Jaune as his section, led by Cat, caught up to him.

"The prisoners are running away," noted Naomi.

"I'll take care of that," grinned Bounty, raising his rifle again.

"Stop!" yelled Jaune. "Let them go. They're no threat to us now." Bounty shot Jaune an inquisitive look, before he started to chuckle.

"Ah, I see. Send them away so they'll attract the Grimm from us. Very clever Jaune." Wait, what? That wasn't what Jaune had intended at all. He wasn't using them as bait. He wasn't sending them out to die. Was he?

Before Jaune could refute Bounty, Phillip butted in. "Hey, guys. Catching up is great and all, but we've got Grimm inbound. Can we, y'know, do something?"

"Yes," said Jaune, snapping his focus back on the task at hand. "I need suggestions people."

"We need to leave this outpost now," stated Cat breathlessly.

"Go into the woods with them?" squeaked Terry.

"Nu-uh, bad idea," said Phil. "We'd be chased down, no question. We can't outrun them."

"So we're trapped?" panted Buzz, eyes wide.

"Shit," gasped Cat. "Shit, shit, shit."

"We should stay here," argued Naomi. "We can take up defensive positions and hold the clearing. At least here we have cover."

"We'll be sitting ducks," countered Finn. "They'll overwhelm us. At least running will give us a fighting chance."

"Let them come," challenged Bounty. "We can take them."

"Jaune," said Aiden, "you need to make a decision now. Stay and fight or run."

Jaune ran through the options in his head rapidly. If they stayed, they'd have to face the full force of the Grimm. But could they survive that? They had rifles, and cover, not to mention plenty of ammo, but would that be enough? On the other hand, if they did run the Grimm might come after them anyway. And however bad fighting from preselected, defensive positions would be, fighting in the woods whilst running would be a sure way of getting them all killed.

"We stay," decided Jaune, ignoring the frustrated glares from half his squad. "Naomi, Buzz, Terry, Aiden, you're with me. We'll protect half the clearing. Phil, take Bounty, Finn and Cat and protect that side of the clearing," commanded Jaune, indicating with his rifle.

"No," said Cat, her face ashen. Jaune started. "No, no, no, please don't make me face them," she begged. Jaune stared at her. Cat's legs were wobbling so bad it looked like she was about to collapse, and her eyes were wide with fear. No, not fear.

Terror.

For the first time since Jaune had known her, Cat was terrified of something. Not even the ambush by Atlas had inspired such an immobilizing dread in her. Jaune knew this kind of fear. This was the kind that would paralyse the muscles and stun the brain. The kind that would render someone useless in a fight. The kind Jaune had experienced far too many times recently.

He gripped Cat's arm tightly, hoping the pain would anchor her in the moment and force her to focus on him completely. "You can do this Cat. Grimm may look scary, but they're little more than dumb animals. You're stronger than this fear. You can overcome it. We need you to. You've never let anything hold you down before. Don't start now." Close. Cat was close to responding to his words. He just needed something to push her that little bit more. "Besides, Terry thinks you're a terrible shot. I've got 5o Lien going that you kill more Grimm than him." Cat's lip finally stopped trembling long enough for her to shoot a poisonous stare at the betrayed Terry. When she turned back to Jaune he could see the fear was still there in her eyes, but that it had been shoved behind a wall of steely determination. Cat would fight. Good.

"Let's move people!" he shouted, and the squad dispersed, scrambling to their positions.

The clearing was mostly circular, but one side was blocked by the outcropping of rock which Aiden had climbed the night before. That meant there were three sides left to protect. Beta section didn't have enough men to protect the outpost right up to the treeline, so Jaune quickly organised his troops in a smaller semicircle closer to the centre of camp, leaving a wide area of ground which the Grimm would have to cover to get to them, all the while being shot at by Beta section. Thanks to the chaos of last night, there were all kinds of collapsed metal and wooden structures which they could use for cover, and it was these which Jaune and his men hid behind now with sweaty palms and racing heartbeats. Jaune doubted they would be much use if a Beowolf got close enough, but it felt natural to hide behind _something_.

"Do-don't forget t-to ripple your f-fire," Terry reminded them, his teeth chatting so bad he barely got the words out. Jaune nodded his understanding. Sarge had taught them to fire one at a time in sequence to prevent them from all running out of ammunition at the same time. If they wanted to survive, they'd have to make sure they weren't all reloading simultaneously.

Jaune took a quick inventory check of the men he had under his command. Buzz behind the same barricade as him, Naomi and Terry behind another, and Aiden on his own. Jaune barely had time to register this when a roar exploded from the forest.

"Ursa!" screamed Jaune, recognising the distinct sound of the bear-like Grimm. The roar was quickly accompanied by the crunching of snapping wood and the groaning of collapsing trees. An instant later, the trees before Jaune bowed to either side and between them, revealed in all its fearful glory, was a very big, and very angry, Ursa. It charged out of the forest, an unstoppable truckload of claws, teeth, and unbridled hate.

Five guns blasted away at the monster that bore down on them, but the beast stubbornly refused to die.

"Shoot it!" screeched Terry, rather unnecessarily, considering everyone was already depressing their triggers with a vigour only terror could produce. The Ursa kept coming, each step sending a seismic thunder rippling through the ground. Flashes of light collided with the monster every step of the way. It roared again, the Ursa's rage echoing around the clearing.

Finally, _finally_ , the tank slowed, the sheer weight of dust slamming into it causing it to lose speed. It stumbled briefly, its front paw momentarily collapsing under its weight. The humans kept firing, refusing to allow it even a moment to recover. The beast roared again but couldn't get it's paw back under it. Finally, the monster gave one last, baleful bellow, before collapsing onto its side and began to fade away.

It had been brought down not five meters from where Jaune and Buzz sheltered.

Jaune lowered his weapon shakily as he watched the Ursa disappear. It had taken all five of them to kill a single Ursa, and judging by the howls coming from the forest, more were on their way. Lots more. They couldn't last like this.

What could they do?

* * *

On the other side of the clearing, Phillip, Bounty, Cat and Finnegan waited for the nightmares to try to kill them. When they'd first reached their laughably inadequate defences, they'd managed to fight off the first few stragglers to come rushing out of the undergrowth and straight into their bullets, but Lightning had warned them that they were only the first Grimm to the party, and that the real battle was about to commence.

" _Good,"_ thought Bounty. _"Let the buggers come."_ He'd needed to blow off some steam ever since the night before, and this seemed like the ideal time to do so.

He glanced at his fellow soldiers to his right. Lightning was fiddling with his armour straps, but considering the situation, was remarkably calm for… well… Lightning. The same could not be said of Cat, who was just about managing not to hyperventilate. He felt bad for her. He really did. Maybe if he hadn't said what he'd said the night before when his blood had been boiling, he would have even been able to offer her some words of comfort. But… well, you couldn't change the past. Bounty had learnt that lesson more than enough times. Maybe one day he'd make it up to her.

Bounty's attention fell onto the last member of their half of the squad. The rat of a man, Flea. He was practically shitting himself, and was glancing around frantically, probably looking for an escape route. Well let him flee. They didn't need him.

Bounty turned back to the trees and hefted his gun, his blood singing for the battle to come. The others thought he was insane for his love of the fight, or that he didn't feel fear. Ridiculous! Of course he felt fear. He was human as much as anyone else in Beta section (well, except for Aiden, of course). It was just that the thrill of the battle, that rush of adrenaline like a drug to his brain, was more intoxicating than the fear of what he faced was intimidating. The battlefield was the only place he could escape his miserable, shitty life, with all its disappointments and let-downs and just be… free.

That was why, when a hoard of Beowolves and Boarbatusks came crashing out of the shadow of the forest, Bounty's mouth was fixed in a wide grin beneath his shaggy beard.

"Come at me you bastards!" he roared, and the Grimm came.

* * *

Jaune knew what they could do. Or rather, what he could do.

"Guys," called Jaune, drawing their attention away from reloading. "If another Ursa like that comes and he's not alone, focus on the other Grimm. Leave the Ursa to me."

"Are you sure about that?" questioned Aiden. God no.

"Yes," he replied.

"Do you have a plan?" enthused Buzz. Not really.

"Yes," he said again. The others nodded, condemning Jaune to his crazy idea. Maybe he'd be lucky. Maybe he'd misheard the Grimm noises, and there weren't any more Ursas out th-

A massive Ursa burst out of the wood, followed by a pack of hissing, spitting Creeps. Jaune whimpered.

"Open fire," shouted Naomi, and as one, the guns began to clatter and crack. The team focused on the Creeps like Jaune had asked. That was the smarter move. Creeps took much fewer shots to go down than an Ursa, and it was better to face one strong but slow enemy than ten weaker but faster ones. That just meant Jaune's task was going to be a pain.

Jaune placed his rifle carefully against the barricade. It wasn't going to be much help with what Jaune had to do. Instead, he pulled out Crocea Mors and expanded his sheath into a shield. Then he stepped into the open.

"Hey!" he yelled. The stampeding Ursa stopped and tilted its head to look at him, as if to say, _"Why aren't you running away screaming, puny human?"_ Jaune was forced to ask himself the same question.

Then the Ursa roared, lowered its head and barrelled towards Jaune. Jaune's stomach sank, kept sinking, then fell out his body and onto the ground somewhere behind him.

Jaune couldn't do this. What had he been thinking? He'd never fought an Ursa before, let alone beaten one. Heck, he'd been _kicked out_ of a school where that was taught. How was he supposed to win this? He wasn't sure.

But he was sure of one thing as the Ursa ploughed towards him. He didn't want to be standing still when that thing hit. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He charged.

Buzz yelped in surprise. Naomi screamed his name. He barely even noticed them. Jaune's vision had narrowed, the world going dark around him. He droned out the hissing from the Creeps and the shooting from the humans. There was only him and the Ursa.

And only one of them would be walking away from this fight.

The Ursa and Jaune collided mid-way. Actually, saying they both collided was a bit misleading. More like Jaune collided with the Ursa's paw and went flying, whilst the Ursa shrugged off Jaune's pitiful swipe with his sword like a particularly annoying stick. Jaune rolled to a stop and struggled to get his feet under him again. Damn, Ursas sucked.

Before Jaune had even fully risen the Ursa was upon him again. Jaune yelped and dropped to the ground again. The Ursa's arm flew over Jaune's head, close enough for Jaune to feel the passing wind brush his hair. He rolled to the side as a rear paw flattened the ground Jaune had previously been lying on. Jaune struck out with his sword and, more by luck than skill, grazed the Grimm's flank. The Ursa bellowed, but it seemed more angry than hurt. Great.

Jaune decided to go on the offensive, rushing the bear with an almighty war cry. The Ursa took a full half step backwards in shock, before seeming to remember that it was Jaune the Ursa was facing. It brought a mighty fist down, and Jaune just managed to raise his shield in time. Regardless, the blow did its very best to crush him underneath it. Jaune's arm buckled, and his legs almost gave out, but somehow, he managed to halt the beast's paw. Jaune ground his teeth together and strained against the Grimm. With an almighty yell Jaune knocked the Ursa's paw off his shield and swiped at the Grimm with a viscous backslash. Jaune had been aiming for the thing's throat, but at the last second the Ursa jerked its head back. Crocea Mors narrowly fell short of its mark, slicing across the Grimm's chest instead.

Nevertheless, the Ursa roared in pain, and Jaune felt a moment of pure elation. Then the Grimm backhanded him, and the feeling turned to dust in his mouth.

Jaune flew backwards again, and this time when he hit the ground the unforgiving earth punched the air out of his chest. Jaune lost his grip on his shield but managed to retain his sword. He groaned from the heap where he lay on the ground.

Somehow this was proving even harder than Jaune had originally thought. Jaune knew he couldn't keep this up. There was no way his stamina would allow him to last long enough to wear an Ursa out. That meant Jaune needed to end this quickly. Its neck seemed to be the weakest point, but the Ursa seemed even bigger than usual, and at its full height its neck was well out of Jaune's pitiful range. So how did he kill it?

Jaune glanced up, and his half-formed plans dissolved in his mind as he saw the Ursa bearing down on him yet again. A shriek forced its way out of Jaune's mouth and he dived to the side. The Ursa went past him, but immediately spun with an agility that was frankly impossible for a creature that big. It prepared to go for another run.

Jaune pushed himself to his feet with his sword and readied himself. He couldn't do this for much longer. The Ursa lowered its head—

—and suddenly a shot slammed into the Ursa's face. The bullet skimmed its bone face plate and burrowed into the Ursa's left eye. The Ursa hollered in pain, thrashing its body from side to side. Another bullet hit its face, but this one ricocheted off bone.

Jaune's tunnel vision finally faded, and he spun around to see Aiden, his gun barrel raised and smoking. The others were still fighting off the Creeps, but Aiden must have seen Jaune struggling.

Jaune was about to utter his thanks when the Ursa finally shook off its pain and charged again. But this time it wasn't coming for Jaune. The thing had just been half-blinded by an attacker, so it did the same thing Grimm always did when they were attacked. It attacked back.

Straight towards Aiden.

Jaune yelped and ran at the bear, waving his hands and desperately trying to pull its attention, but it couldn't see him. Jaune was on the side of its blind eye.

Wait. It couldn't see him.

A memory lanced through Jaune's mind back from Beacon initiation. Jaune had been hanging upside down from a tree at that point, so he remembered it clearly. Something to do with Nora and an Ursa like this one…

Somehow, Jaune managed to increase his speed even more, running almost perpendicular to the Grimm. It was a stupid plan, but then again, points for consistency, he guessed. He had to time this perfectly. Too late and he'd miss his chance. Too early and he'd be trampled. The Ursa came closer, and Jaune closed the gap between them.

At the last second, the Ursa seemed to finally sense him, rotating its massive head toward Jaune. But by then it was too late.

Jaune leapt into the air just as the beast came thundering past. For a horrifying second, Jaune's fingers grasped nothing but air, but then they finally found something solid and hauled the rest of Jaune's body onto the Ursa's back.

The Ursa roared, suddenly finding a troublesome human clinging onto one of its back spikes. The monster halted and reared onto its hind legs, twisting and swinging its claws as if swatting a swarm of flies. It was all Jaune could do to wrap his arms, one still holding his sword, around the white lance and try not to fall off. His body thudded repeatedly against the Ursa, but its arms weren't long enough to reach behind and grab Jaune. Another shot rang out, hitting the Ursa squarely in its exposed stomach. The bear folded over and was forced to go back to all fours, momentarily stabilising the roiling, tossing, black sea that was its back.

It was now or never. Jaune dragged himself unsteadily to his feet. The Ursa trembled underneath him. It was getting back to its hindlegs! There was no more time for caution. Then again, he was balancing himself on an Ursa's back, so had that ever really been a thing? Jaune raised Crocea Mors, leapt towards the head of the Grimm…

…and drove his sword through the back of the Ursa's neck.

The Ursa gurgled wetly, before its legs gave out underneath it, and it collapsed onto the ground with an almighty crash, bringing Jaune down with him. It lay like that for a second, fixing Jaune, Aiden and every other living thing with a gaze that promised a long and bloody death someday, before the light in its eyes finally faded, and it began to decay.

" _I've done it,"_ Jaune thought weakly as he lay starring into the sky. _"I killed an Ursa."_ He smiled.

Then a Creep poked its maw into Jaune's field of vision, and Jaune screamed again.

* * *

Barks, growls, squeals, grunts, bangs and laughter all rang out as Bounty blasted into the oncoming tide of creatures of the night. Beowolves toppled over each other as they were hit with rounds of dust. Boarbatusks tried to go into their death roll but were held back by the other Grimm in their way. It turned out that the larger group was actually advantageous to the members of Beta section. But then again, they had more Grimm, so fair's fair he supposed.

The Beowolves were easy to take down; made the most noise, died the quickest. The Boarbatusks were trickier, with small bodies and thick armour. So it was these which Bounty went for.

His rifle clattered as he unloaded round after round into the ranks of Grimm. There were a lot of the buggers, sure, but Bounty wasn't too worried. They fell just as quickly as they came. He was confident they could hold them back, even with Flea being worth less than dead weight. Bounty could have done this all day if he wanted t—

His rifle clicked emptily in his hands. No bullets came out. To his side Bounty heard the same dreaded sound echo from his companions.

They were out of ammo.

All of them.

"Reloading!" screamed Bounty, Cat and Flea, almost simultaneously. Six hands scrambled at their pouches and weapons, frantically trying to fit new magazines to their rifles. Lightning shrieked, now the only one still firing thanks to his special whatchamadoodee weapon with a larger ammo capacity. Bounty cursed as the Grimm seemed to smile victoriously at the stupid humans, before falling upon the soldiers with a renewed vigour, fighting for the right to tear the humans apart first.

Bounty growled in frustration. What had he been thinking? All that time Sergeant Cole had tried to drill into them to stagger their fire, and the moment it had actually mattered they'd utterly forgotten it.

Bounty glanced right. Lightning was desperately raking his fire left and right with his yellow weapon, slowing the monsters down but _not enough_. Cat finally rammed a new clip into her weapon, swearing colourfully all the way before finally opening up, spraying the fast-approaching Grimm with some good old death. Flea was still fumbling with his magazine, his sweat-drenched hands slipping on his weapon.

"We need to fall back!" Flea screamed. Bounty ignored him. It wasn't the first time the Flea had tried to run instead of facing his enemies head on.

"Finn's right!" yelled Lightning manically. "We can't hold them off. We need to go. Now!"

Bounty growled again and finally slammed a fresh magazine into his rifle. He snapped his weapon up and was immediately greeted with the hideous snout of a Beowolf. Bounty's eyes widened in horror as the beast lunged for him. He fell backwards, narrowly avoiding the Grimm's razor-sharp talons as they swiped towards him and unloaded a short burst into its chest. The creature was tossed backwards, dead before it hit the ground. When had they gotten so close?

"Bounty, you great pug of a brute," shrieked Cat, terror turning her voice shrill. "Fall back!" Even her?

Bounty ignored them all. If they wanted to flee with their tails between their legs, let them. He'd hold these sons-of-bitches back by himself if he had to. He'd be damned before he ran from a fight.

Bounty kept firing into the mass of darkness. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the others pulling back under the sheer weight of howling, squealing savages. Cowards. Bounty didn't need th—

A Boarbatusk suddenly skidded towards him, impossibly fast. Bounty cried out and fell back, tripping over his own feet. Somehow the thing had found enough room to go into a death roll. It collided with Bounty's cover, decimating his measly protection, but also halting its spin. Bounty desperately scrambled backwards, but the Grimm noticed and fell upon him. Six razor sharp extensions of bone bore down on the defenceless human. Two jutted upwards from its snout, for what purpose Bounty couldn't even begin to comprehend. Two of them came from its chin and were curved like an elephant's tusks, which, all things considered, were pretty useless. The other two, however were more like fangs and protruded directly from its upper jaw. It was these which angled towards Bounty's exposed stomach, and which did their very best to gut him.

Bounty screamed and raised his rifle horizontally. The Boarbatusk's curved tusks locked against the weapon and stuck there, holding back its ginormous canines. Four luminous eyes regarded Bounty balefully.

Shit.

Bounty heaved against the Grimm with all his strength, but he was lying in an awkward position that made it almost impossible to push against his foe; on his back with the Grimm practically above him. Slowly, inexorably, the white spears were pushed closer and closer to impaling Bounty. Bounty strained against his doom despairingly. His arms shook. His teeth ground together. He barely even registered that he'd stopped drawing in breath. The oversized heap of bacon, sensing its imminent victory, squealed in gleeful delight and continued its unyielding push. Bounty closed his eyes and felt the hot, sticky breath wash over his sweating face. The putrid stench of death flowed from the Boarbatusk's sabre lined maw and into his nostrils, clogging his throat. He opened his eyes again, determined to watch his death with his own eyes.

" _Death by pig,"_ he thought grumpily. _"No less than I deserve."_ Bounty's arms were seconds from giving out. The deadly fangs came within an inch of his exposed torso. The Grimm screeched again directly into his face—

—and a rifle was shoved into its open mouth and a round discharged.

The thing's head exploded, bits of mangled flesh and shattered bone flying out the back of its skull. Black blood spattered Bounty. The Boarbatusk collapsed forward, even as Bounty was dragged away from it, narrowly avoiding getting his feet crushed under the mountain of pork.

Bounty chocked on his collar as it was used to haul his body away from the oncoming Grimm. He finally managed to twist his torso to get a look at his saviour. He expected to see Cat's cocky grin, or even Lightning's frantic gaze.

What he didn't expect to see was Flea's face, a merge somewhere between fury, disbelief and terror. The two enemies locked eyes. For once, Bounty was at a loss for words.

"Fall. Back." hissed Flea. Bounty stumbled to his feet, and for the first time since meeting, he did was Finnegan said.

* * *

Naomi's arms ached as the rifle bucked in her hands once more, felling yet another Creep. She yanked the rifle around again only to find that there were no more targets to track. The last one fell to Jaune, now with both sword and shield back in hand.

Naomi fell to her knees in exhaustion, her relieved gasp echoed by the rest of Jaune's half of Beta section. They'd done it. They'd actually done it. There were only so many Grimm in any one part of a forest, Naomi knew. That meant if they killed all the Grimm within earshot, there wouldn't be any left to attack them. There wasn't an endless supply of Grimm. Just a metric fuck tonne of them. But judging from the silence coming from the forest, the squad had succeeded in reaching the turning point.

"Uh, Jaune…" said Buzz. Tiredly, Naomi turned to see what her brother wanted Jaune for. She just had time to see Jaune leap back to his feet and sprint across the clearing.

" _Oh for heaven's sake…"_ How Jaune found the energy to start running after what they'd just been through, Naomi had no idea. She turned to see what Jaune was racing so frantically towards—

—and the next instant she was thudding after him, desperation lending her speed as she fought through the veil of exhaustion that tried to engulf her. After a brief moment of hesitation, the others followed.

Naomi raced towards the other side of the clearing where Aiden, Cat, Finn and Bounty were hurtling towards them. Behind them came a horde of stampeding Grimm intent on tearing them apart limb from limb. There must have been more Grimm from that side of the forest, or maybe tougher ones.

"A little help here!" screeched Cat as she blind fired madly behind her. Jaune reached them first, then kept running, taking several extra strides beyond them before stopping and adopting a battle stance. His sword resembled little more than a toothpick and his shield a serving platter, but nonetheless he stood and faced down the demon host before him.

Naomi grounded her teeth together. Jaune could trick Buzz and maybe some of the others, but he couldn't fool her. She noticed the way his knees wobbled slightly, how his breathing increased rapidly, how his sword wouldn't quite stay still. He was petrified of those monsters. The living embodiment of everything that was evil in the world was bearing down on him, and he knew exactly what they'd do to him. They wouldn't rest until he was shredded into bloody ribbons. Wouldn't relent until there was nothing left of Jaune but a red stain in the dirt. All this and more, these nightmares would do if they got their hands on Jaune.

Well she'd be damned if she let her sergeant face that fate alone.

Naomi roared and ploughed after Jaune.

/-/

"Naomi!" screamed Buzz as he watched his sister sprint after Jaune, straight towards the mass of Grimm. He went to follow her, only to have his arm yank back harshly. He gasped in pain, turning to see Cat holding his limb in an uncompromising grip.

"Where are you going?" she hissed. "You're going to get yourself killed!"

"My sister's out there," he tried to argue. Cat looked up, then cursed.

"Nuke! Get back!" she screamed, but Naomi either didn't hear or didn't listen.

Buzz watched in horror as Naomi finally reached Jaune's side. An instant later, the tsunami of blackness collided with the lone humans, breaking on the rocks that were Jaune and his sister. Jaune bore the brunt of their frontal assault, swinging his weapon madly and bashing his shield into approaching Grimm, while Naomi blasted the Grimm that tried to flank around them. Somehow, together, they were holding back the flood of monsters. But they couldn't last forever.

"We need to help them!" pleaded Buzz to Cat, who still held him back from sprinting into the fray after his sister.

"B-b-baseline!" screamed Terry to the regrouping members of Beta section. "W-we should from a baseline. We need to lay down some fire."

The soldiers of Beta section complied and hurriedly slipped into a flat line. They finally added their blaster fire to Jaune and Naomi's efforts. Naomi spared a furtive glance back at them and shouted something to Jaune. He nodded, and together the two began to back up towards the line of soldiers. They were slow. Painstakingly slow. But their movement was persistent, and the gap between them was gradually closing. They just had to keep moving. Just a few more steps. Just a few mo—

Naomi tripped.

/-/

Naomi knew what was happening with the surety of a condemned woman with the noose already around her neck. Worse, she was just as helpless to prevent her fate. She flailed uselessly, knowing it was pointless but having to try anyway. She hit the ground, jarring her entire body. The monsters fell upon her instantly. Naomi screamed as she was drowned in a sea of darkness. She shot indiscriminately, not caring where the bullets went so long as it was into the ocean of black. Bodies fell all around her. The air was alive with a monstrous cacophony of deafening Grimm noises.

/-/

Buzz saw his sister go down and screamed her name, his heart wrenching in his chest. His voice was echoed by Cat next to him, who still had one hand holding his arm back.

"Cat, please," Buzz begged, not caring that he had tears streaming down his face. "She's going to die. We have to help her." Cat stared into his eyes. Buzz stared into hers. In them he saw worry, fear, frustration. She wanted to help Naomi and Jaune. She really did. "Please, Cat. Please."

But then Cat looked away and wouldn't meet his gaze again.

"I can't do it," she whispered.

/-/

Naomi caught a glimpse of Jaune through the murderous hoard around her. He was battling his way through the thick wall of black flesh towards her, oblivious to the claws and tusks that slid harmlessly off his aura-coated body. She just had to survive long enough for him to reach her. Just long enough to get up and away. She just had to keep firing—

Her rifle jammed.

/-/

Buzz's heart seemed to shatter as he looked to his sister, seemingly so close, and yet she might as well have been a million miles away from him. He couldn't get to her. Not while Cat held his arm. Not while Cat—

Wait…

His gaze fell onto the hand that pinned him in place.

/-/

A Beowolf grinned maliciously at Naomi, knowing she was trapped. Naomi still stupidly pulled the trigger of her rifle despite knowing it was useless. Her once sharp brain was paralysed in the frozen grip of terror. She was going to die.

/-/

"I'm sorry Cat," Buzz whispered. Then slammed the butt of his rifle onto Cat's knuckles. She yelled in pain, momentarily releasing her grip on his arm. In that instant Buzz moved.

/-/

Naomi saw Jaune's blade enter the underside of a Boarbatusk, and knew he'd never get it out in time to save her. It was over.

The Beowolf raised its murderous claws.

/-/

Buzz knew what he needed to do. He'd never been more sure of anything before in his life. He had to save his sister…

/-/

Naomi squeezed her eyes shut and looked away. She didn't want to see her death coming.

/-/

…no matter the cost.

/-/

Naomi felt a whoosh of movement and flinched, expecting to feel five knives slice into her body like butter. The Beowolf screeched in victory. She waited—

And felt nothing.

Naomi opened her eye a fraction, and her heart stopped beating.

The next instant Jaune was there, a viscous swipe decapitating the Beowolf that had tried to kill her. His next swing cleared a ring of safety between them and the Grimm.

A moment later Cat was there, followed closely by the others. Phillip was swinging his yellow weapon like a club, cracking bones and imploding skulls. The others were blasting the Grimm from close range, blowing bloody holes into the wall of Grimm. Six rifles discharged incessantly, too close to miss. The Grimm died ceaselessly. In what may have been a minute, or an hour, or a day, it was all over, and the last Grimm finally fell.

But Naomi didn't see any of this. She knelt on the ground, having no recollection of ever getting off her back, and cradled something in her arms. Inside her head, a sharp, ringing was emanating from every conceivable corner of her brain. It rose in pitch and volume, becoming impossibly loud, impossibly painful, blocking out every rational thought Naomi had ever had. Every atom of every molecule of every cell of her very being was being torn apart as a molten vat of acid opened inside her and dissolved everything she was as she looked down at what lay in her hands.

Because in her hands, bloody, bruised, broken, was Buzz.

Blood oozed from five, terrible, gaping holes in his chest, each the size of a jagged claw, but Buzz didn't cry out. He didn't make any noise at all. She heard a guttural, inhumane wail build up and up and up, and from miles away some part of her shattered brain registered that it was her that was making the awful cry. The most important person in Naomi's entire world simply looked up at her with big, brown, loving eyes and widened his mouth. Blood leaked from the corners, a dash of gruesome colour on his horrifyingly pale face, but what was on that face was unmistakable, and equally unforgettable.

It was a grin.

Then his body went slack, and his eyes fell from hers and his face grinned no more.

Jaune reached her a second later and desperately put his hands to Buzz's ruined chest, as if he could reverse the effects of death itself. His hands even seemed to glow slightly. But Buzz was gone. Gone. Gone. Gone, _gone, gone, gone…_

Her wail reached an ear-shattering crescendo…

And Naomi broke.


	12. Chapter 12 - Darkest Day

**Sometimes I really hate myself for the stuff I write...**

 **Firstly, I want to quickly thank you guys so much for how well you took last chapter. There were no author's notes at the end of last chapter, and that was entirely intentional, so I'm going to do it here briefly. I wanted to see how you guys would react to the chapter without any interference from me; no softening the blow, no ruining the tone by making a joke at the end, just raw emotions. And can I just say, for someone who was literally preparing the speech I would give if I lost half my followers, I cannot thank you guys enough for sticking through that and continuing to read this story. You guys are awesome.**

 **When I started this story I was giddy with imagining ways I could gruesomely kill off my characters (I've read far too much G.R.R. Martin) but as I actually began writing and developing these characters... I fell in love with them. And it was with the heavier and most regretful heart that I wrote chapter 11. But I guarantee that to the best of my ability, Buzz will not have died for no reason.**

 **Now I wish I could say that was the lowest point in this story but...**

* * *

 _"In peace, sons bury their fathers. In war, fathers bury their sons"_

 _Herodotus_

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve—Darkest Day**

That same day, Jaune buried Buzz.

Finnegan, Bounty and Cat watched as he dug Buzz's grave. No one moved. No one spoke. What was there to say?

They needed to leave. The Atlas outpost they'd captured wasn't safe anymore. The body of the sixteen-year-old kid proved that. They should move on. Take what provisions they had and get as far away from this accursed clearing as was humanly possible. They would do that soon.

But they weren't leaving just yet. They had one more task to complete here.

Finnegan watched Jaune's spade rise and fall, shovelling dirt over his shoulder with each motion, creating the pit that Buzz would lie in. It wasn't right. None of this was right. That they had been abandoned by their army in a hostile, monster-infested forest. That a child had been forced to lead them. That Buzz had… that Buzz was…

Fuck.

Finn's face slowly curdled as he watched Jaune work, each one of his motions sending Finn's lip downturning further and further. The rhythmic thumping of dirt hitting the ground behind Jaune became the only sound in the entire clearing, the entire damn world.

What a fucking mess.

Eventually, Cat seemed to have enough. "I'm going to check on Naomi," she snapped.

"You sure you wa-"

"I wasn't talking to you, Bounty" Cat sneered. She shot one last, jaded glare at Jaune's back, before spinning on her heel and entering the tent Naomi was 'resting' in.

Naomi hadn't left it since the attack.

"Ah, bugger me…" mumbled Bounty.

That left just Bounty and Finn. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Finally, Bounty just had to break the silence. "Why did you save me?" Finn didn't reply. "You had the chance to run. To get back to safety," Bounty's gruff voice continued, "but you came back to save me from that Boarbatusk. Why?"

Finnegan spat on the ground. "If this is your roundabout way of saying thank you, don't bother."

Bounty gave a mirthless, hollow chuckle, more like he was going through the motions than because he felt any particular amusement at that moment. "Why did you?" Fucking hell, couldn't the oaf just take a bloody hint?

"I don't want to talk about it," Finn tried to shut down the conversation, but Bounty wouldn't be swayed.

"Even after everything I said to you. Even after what I said about your… your wife, you still put your own life at risk for mine. I want to know why."

"Why do you care?"

"Because you're a dick." Finn almost choked. _He_ was the dick? "You're always complaining, you're traitorous, cowardly, and when push came to shove, you abandoned us to save your own hide. But despite all that, you still came back for me when my life was on the line. That doesn't fit into my understanding of you. So why save me?"

"I don't know," Finn stubbornly stated. Bounty could go to hell; Finn didn't owe him anything, least of all the truth.

"Bullshit," Bounty growled. "There's a reason, or you've at least got an idea why you did it. Tell me."

Finn growled straight back. "I don't want to talk about it," he said, striding back to his tent. Bounty followed.

"Why abandon us once, then save me later? It doesn't make sense."

Finn snarled. "You're never going to let that first ambush go, are you?"

"No. You left all your squad mates to die because you figured your life was more valuable than any of ours. We had two kids with us then. Did you think about them when you ran off to save your skin?"

Finn felt his fists clenching and his blood boiling, but worse, he felt his face burning in shame. He wasn't proud of what he'd done in that first ambush. But no matter what he did, he knew it'd a black blotch on his name for the rest of the time he spent in Beta section.

"Go, away," he growled at Bounty.

"Not until I get a reason."

"Fine!" roared Finn, spinning around and shoving a finger in Bounty's fat face. If the idiot wouldn't leave him alone, he'd give him what he wanted. Anything to make him piss off. "I was terrified in that first ambush," he exploded. "Scared shitless. I'd never been in anything like that before. The only thing I could think of was to get away from there. So I did. I fled. You can call me cowardly if you want, but I'd rather be cowardly and living than brave and dead."

"Plenty of us were scared," replied Bounty, arms crossed and face unimpressed. "Didn't mean we all left the others to die."

"You still don't understand. I had to survive."

"Why?" Bounty demanded.

"Because I made a promise to my wife I'd come home!" Finn practically screamed. A thousand feelings and sensations slammed into Finnegan as fresh as they'd been that day, not a single one dulled by the passing of time: him staring into Jasmine's face, the woman he had given his heart to, and who had cherished and nurtured him into a better man than he'd ever been on his own, taking the time to commit every single inch of her unblemished skin to memory; the feelings of grief at the knowledge that he wouldn't see her again for potentially months; the secret from his wife, whispered into his ear as they'd held each other one last time, that had rocked his world and left him reeling; the promise she'd begged him to make, just before he was pulled away and shoved onto the bullhead. _"Promise me you'll survive, Finn. Promise me you'll come home to us."_ Not 'me'. 'Us'.

The shards of pain latticed throughout the memory sliced into Finnegan with the force of a truck, leaving all the wounds he'd tried to hide wide open. Finn's rage was expelled in an instant, forced out of the holes in his soul as the grief consumed him fully, leaving little more than a slump-shouldered, shrunken husk of a man in its wake, burdened by loss and grief.

Bounty, for once, looked at a loss for words. "Then… then why did you join the army?" he finally questioned uncertainly.

"I never wanted to," admitted Finn weakly. "I blew some money, made some bad decisions. Before I knew it, I was drowning in debt. The government promised to pay off my loans if I'd join their stupid recruitment program. I had no choice. Jasmine begged me and begged me not to accept their offer. Said we'd find another way, that we'd figure it out together. I didn't believe her. I signed myself up for the bloody military, thinking it'd be a cake walk." Finnegan let out a bitter laugh. "Next thing I know, I'm being shot at by a fucking airship and attacked by Atlas soldiers. Some cake walk."

Finn lapsed back into silence. He felt utterly drained, as if recounting his mistakes had slowly leeched the life out of him. His dark skin was a little paler than usual, and his eyes were a thousand miles away.

"Look… Finn…" Bounty began uncomfortably, "I'm, sorry, for what, for what I said last night. About… about your wife."

A little spark of fire came back to Finn at that, and he stared Bounty down. "You're an asshole, you know that?" Bounty chuckled quietly.

"Yeah, I've been told that a few times."

"Well it's true. You're violent, loudmouthed and rude. You don't know the meaning of personal space, and what you call bravery is nothing short of suicidal idiocy."

"If you hate me so much then why _did_ you save me?" Finn gave a frustrated sigh.

"It was different this time. Sure, I was still scared. But it wasn't the same mind-numbing terror. This time I could still think. And as I watched you do your very best to throw your life away, I thought of something. If I died, Jasmine would be heartbroken. So would my parents, my friends, my brother. And I realised something I hadn't considered before: if you died, how many people would you have left distraught? How many lives would you have taken a chunk out of with your death?"

Bounty stiffened very suddenly. Finn looked at him, but Bounty refused to meet his eye. "None," he mumbled, almost to himself. "No one loves me. If I'd died this morning no one would have batted an eyelid."

"That's good to know for next time," Finn shot, but then he sighed. "Regardless, Jasmine would have wanted me to save you. She always does the right thing." Bounty nodded, and the two men fell once more into silence, watching Jaune dig. Eventually, Finn turned. "If you're done interrogating me, I'm going back to my tent. I've had enough talking for one day." Bounty didn't stop him as he spun away and stalked into his tent.

What a colossal fuckup.

* * *

 _In. Lift. Over the shoulder. In. Lift. Over the shoulder._

Jaune repeated the motions like a mantra as he dug, ignoring the sweat stinging his eyes, ignoring the blisters forming on his hands, ignoring the weight of the shovel and the aching of his back.

Ignoring Buzz's corpse next to him.

 _In. Lift. Over the shoulder._

Jaune's eyes burned, but not from the perspiration that dripped into them. His fault. All this; his fault. If he hadn't bitten off more than he could chew by attacking this outpost. If he hadn't been so careless and not realised the Atlas prisoners would attract the Grimm. If he had just gotten to Naomi sooner during the attack. Then Buzz might have been… Buzz might still be…

 _In. Lift. Over the shoulder._

Drops of water crept down his nose and splashed into the pit, turning the dirt dark where they landed. Jaune's hands tightened on his shovel when he saw this, and his next _in_ pierced the ground deeply. Crying wouldn't help Buzz now. Nothing would help Buzz now.

Why then, did the tears keep falling?

 _In_. Buzz was dead. _Lift_. His squad was in tatters. _Over the shoulder_. And it was all. On. Him.

Jaune stabbed the ground again and again and again, over and over and over, as if all his failings stemmed from this one patch of hated earth. He attacked the ground with a vigour he'd never seen in himself before, wishing he could beat his frustrations out of him. Hot tears streaked down his face, blurring his vision. He furiously wiped at them with his sleeve, finally halting his work for the first time in an age. He looked at the grave he'd made. Buzz's grave. It was done.

Tentatively, with as much care as he could, he lifted Buzz's body and lowered it into the hole. No words of ceremony were said. No mournful congregation was there to bid their friend goodbye. There was just Jaune, the sighing of the wind through the too-silent clearing, and the inescapable sense of loneliness that enveloped him as he stood there.

Jaune looked once more upon the purple hair and youthful face of one of the first friends he'd had in the army. At the boy who had laughed so freely. Had been a source of such joy, no matter the circumstance. Had been ever the optimist, despite their dire situations. If Jaune ignored the gaping holes in his chest and the too-pale face he might have even looked… peaceful.

Jaune began piling dirt back into his pit. Soon, Buzz had disappeared beneath a mound of soil, and was gone from Jaune's sight for the last time.

* * *

Beta section left the outpost later that day. Naomi had been barely able to walk without Cat's help, and even then, she hadn't said a single word for the rest of the day. She'd simply trundled along in silence, half held up by Cat, ashen faced and with a vacant expression. The moment Jaune had called for them to make camp for the night, she had simply drifted into her tent without a second glance at any of them. Cat had hurriedly gone in after her, and neither had emerged since.

Jaune entered his own tent. Being the commanding officer, he'd gotten the biggest one. There was even a foldable camp chair and desk for him, not that he'd ever need them.

Slowly, Jaune lowered himself into his seat and moved to put his head in his hands. But even with his eyelids squeezed shut, one image still swirled endlessly in his mind. Innocent, brown eyes filled with hope. A mouth, ever twitching at the sides, as if the world were a place of constant joy and happiness which just _had_ to be smiled at. Violet hair framing a youthful face. A grinning face. Buzz's face.

Jaune's hands reached his coarse, unwashed hair—

—and Jaune snapped.

He exploded outwards, flailing a leg that crashed into the table and sent it flying. His foot throbbed.

Sergeant Cole had been a real leader. He'd trained his squad relentlessly, giving them the best chance of surviving the situation they were in. He'd rescued his squad from a sure death trap and led them to relative safety. He'd saved Jaune at the cost of his own life, taking the bullet that should have been for Jaune because he'd been _too damn slow_. That man should have been leading them. A selfless man. Dead.

Jaune picked up his chair and hurled it at the ground. It made a pitifully unsatisfying sound as it bounced on the dirt and didn't break.

Ash had been a stronger man than Jaune would ever be. He'd lost everything he'd ever loved and still hadn't broken. He'd been as tough as nails. As immovable as a mountain. And when it came down to it, he hadn't hesitated to save the people he'd never even liked. That kind of man was the one who should have survived. An unbreakable man. Dead.

Jaune stomped his way over to where his desk had fallen. He punched a fist onto the flimsy plastic top. And then another. And then another. The table refused to break. Jaune's knuckles ached.

And Buzz… Buzz…

Jaune should have been the one to die.

And in that moment, with the weight of the world collapsing around him, frightened, unsure, alone, Jaune Arc finally gave up.

The next moment, Terry burst in, apparently having taken it upon himself to guard Jaune's tent. "Sarge, what happened? I heard a noise—" he stopped when he saw Jaune's desk and chair knocked over. "Oh, uh, sorry Sarge, I uh, didn't mean to interrupt anything…"

"It's fine Terry," Jaune mumbled, feeling a tiredness that went beyond bone deep. He picked up his chair and collapsed back onto it. He felt… hollow. Even the anger, born of hopelessness and despair, which had possessed him mere seconds before had completely evaporated, leaving nothing behind but a vague numbness, and an unbeatable fatigue.

Terry still hovered by the flap to Jaune's tent, clearly worried for Jaune but apparently unable to decide what to do. "Is there, uh, anything I can do to help?" Jaune was about to dismiss him, but then he paused. He dreaded the answer he'd receive, but he had to ask nonetheless.

"Terry, am I… am I a good leader?" Terry shuffled around uncomfortably.

"Well, uh, I mean, I haven't really known a lot of leaders. The only other one I had was Sergeant Cole, so, uh, I don't have a lot to go on." Jaune nodded stiffly. Terry was trying to be kind by not answering the question, but his real thoughts were obvious. No, he wasn't a good leader. Good leaders didn't get a sixteen-year-old kid killed. Good leaders didn't leave one of their female members in a depression so black it looked impossible to drag them back from. Good leaders wouldn't, having been confronted by their own inadequacies, have given up on any hope of them getting out of this mess. How could anyone think otherwise.

"But if it means anything, I think you're a good leader, Jaune," said Terry. Jaune's head snapped to Terry, trying to gauge if this was a joke. Terry's face was deadly serious.

"Me?" he asked, incredulous. "How can you say that?" Finally, a little spark of emotion wormed its way through his apathy, and he clung onto the anger like a drowning man, feeding the little ember, stoking it, until he was on his feet and advancing menacingly on Terry. "Just look at where we are. Stuck in a hostile forest, Sergeant Cole, Ash and now Buzz all… all…" The glob in Jaune's throat choked off the rest of his sentence. "Naomi hasn't spoken all day, home is still miles away, we're in most of this mess because of me and _I don't know what to do!_ " Jaune shouted, releasing all of his frustrations in a frenzy. Some rational corner of him knew it wasn't fair on Terry, who was just trying to help, but a larger part knew he was failing horrifically, and would rather the hard truth than a white lie from his squad mate, whilst yet another portion of his brain feared letting go of this rage lest he fall back into the pit of despair. "I have no idea how to make this right! I never have. All the way since day one, I've been bluffing and winging my way through every problem we've come across. Tell me then, how can I be a good leader?" Jaune demanded.

Terry shied away, instantly making his body smaller and less offensive. He was at least a few years older than Jaune, but he still diverted his eyes to stare at the floor instead of at Jaune. Jaune immediately felt bad, and like a hole in a fish tank, all his anger rushed out of him, leaving him once more empty and tired.

"I'm sorry Terry," he sighed, "I've had… a pretty rough day." Jaune turned and made his way back to the centre of the tent.

"You're a good leader," spoke a timid voice from the entrance, "because you did everything you could to help us." Jaune turned back towards Terry. "Sometimes bad things just happen. My dad learnt that the hard way. You didn't make those Atlas soldiers attack us, but at least you did what you could to get us more supplies, so we could keep going."

"But what good was that if I can't save everyone?"

"This is war, Jaune. It's unlikely you'll be able to save any of us. It's not your fault if some things just can't be done. But at least you tried. That's what matters, I think."

That's what matters? That wasn't right. How was just trying the most important thing? How could it be acceptable to fail so miserably, so long as you gave it your all?

Ruby wouldn't have accepted that as an answer. If she were here, she would have been able to get her team out of this mess. Jaune hadn't known her for long, but he'd spent enough time with her to know that she always found a way to put things right. How she did it, Jaune had no idea. She might have been a better fighter, but she had no more leadership experience than Jaune did. But she always believed there was a solution to any problem, and somehow, she found it. Why couldn't Jaune do the same? She always believed that she could succeed, and succeed she did. She always believed that good would eventually triumph over evil. She always believed…

She always believed?

No matter how dire the situation got, Ruby was not the kind of person to lose faith. Jaune had originally found that an admirable quality, if a little naïve, but what if he'd been looking at it wrong. Terry didn't really believe that they could get home; that much was clear from what he'd said, and Jaune found it easy to imagine that the others felt similarly. But if they didn't believe that they could get out of this mess, then what chance did they have? How was it possible to do something if even _you_ thought it was impossible? At the end of the day, you had to at least have hope that you could do it.

Maybe that was why Ruby always seemed to overcome her problems. Because she thought that there was always a way. No, she _knew_ that there was always a way, at least in her mind. Is that what Terry meant by at least trying to be worth a lot. Because ultimately, he could never accomplish anything unless he at least tried, and he couldn't try anything unless he believed that there was a way to do it. He had to have faith. Hope.

Was that what a leader was supposed to do? When things were at their worst, was a leader meant to inspire hope in his team once more. Jaune had never really thought of leadership like that, but it was blatantly obvious his team was losing faith. Was it then, his job, to give them the spark they needed to get home. But could he even do it?

Did he even want to?

Jaune tried to want to give his team hope. He wanted to want this. But… it was like trying to put butter on the sides of a greased pan. Nothing would stick. Anger seemed the only emotion he could even momentarily hold onto, but even that burnt up quickly, leaving him with nothing but an empty pit inside his stomach. Jaune was just struggling to… care. He knew he should. He could use all the logic he wanted to argue what he needed to do, how he needed to feel, but it was like fighting a storm front. He would push against it as hard as he could, but his hands would slide right through, leaving the blackness to envelope his mind and suffocate his emotions completely. He'd try as hard as he could to hold on to anything at all, but it would simply slip away, and he'd forget why he even bothered.

He was drowning. That was what it was. He was drowning in a sea of apathy. He just didn't see a reason to fight on. Why did he even want to get home? What was there for him? His family might miss him for a short while, but there were nine of them. They'd move on soon enough, and little, clumsy, awkward Jaune would be side-lined once again. It was nothing new. He was used to it. And as for his team in Beacon… no. He didn't have a team anymore. That was the point. At best they'd forgotten all about him. At worst they still hated his guts. There was nothing for Jaune back in Vale. So what was the point in continuing to fight a lost battle.

Buzz had died because of him. Because of his mistakes. Before, every time he'd messed up, it had only been him to suffer. Never anyone else. Buzz had changed all that. Now, for the first time, someone else had been hurt by Jaune's failure. No, not hurt. Killed. Killed because Jaune had screwed up. This wasn't a game. This wasn't a fairy-tale. His actions were directly affecting the people around him, and Jaune had only just realised how serious that was. If he tried to keep going, tried to get up and fight on, how many more of his friends would he kill? How many bodies would he have to bury before he learnt his lesson and stayed down.

He couldn't go through that again. He wouldn't. Jaune could accept dying. Death might even be peaceful. But Jaune would not be responsible for another dead friend. The cost of failure was too great. He couldn't want to get home unless he had a reason to. So he wouldn't even try. Not until he had a good reason to risk getting anyone else's blood on his hands.

With a tired wave of his hand, Jaune asked Terry to leave him alone to think. The moment Terry was gone, Jaune picked his table up, slumped back down into the chair, and laid his head over the table. Without another word he closed his eyes and fell asleep to dream of nothing.

* * *

 **Well, I guess we can't have peaks without a few troughs. Thankfully, t** **his should be the lowest point in this story. I actually meant this chapter to come out earlier today, but as I was proofreading it I had a mid-chapter crisis and wanted to rewrite a chunk of it. Hopefully doesn't seem too clunky.**

 **The situation looks dire for our heroes: Buzz is dead. The squad is barely keeping it together. And our blond protagonist has given up. Can Jaune find it in himself to keep going after this? Will Naomi ever recover? Are we ever going to see anyone else from the main RWBY cast? Stay tuned, and all your questions will be answered soon.**


	13. Chapter 13 - A Talk long coming

**Here we go again...**

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" _Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts"_

 _Winston Churchill_

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 **Chapter Thirteen—A Talk long coming**

"Jaune?" Jaune slumbered in the state somewhere between conscious and sleep. Some part of his brain heard the voice calling his name and blatantly ignored it. "Jaune," the voice called again. Jaune's muddled mind debated whether to answer it, then decided it was too much effort, and buried deeper into the refuge of sleep.

It had been three days. Three days since Jaune had fallen into the pit of despair. Three days since Jaune had simply stopped caring what happened to him. They'd continued walking south, because what else was there to do? But Jaune had long stopped hoping to reach Vale. The distance was simply too great. What chance did they have?

They'd been attacked along the way as well. Nothing as big as the Grimm hoard that had assaulted the Atlas outpost, but a few Grimm here and there had heard them and come investigating. Each time, the squad had beaten back the beasts, but each time it had taken just a little more ammo, just a little longer.

It was only a matter of time now.

That was why Jaune really didn't want to get up this morning. He didn't want to have to face another day of walking, of awkward silences between the squad, of Cat's accusing stares and Terry's worried glances. He didn't want to keep fighting when his mind had given up so completely.

Unfortunately, the voice had other ideas. "Jaune. Jaune. Comeon buddy. Wakeup." A hand began to rock Jaune's shoulder, gentle but insistent, shaking off the cobwebs of fatigue and steadfastly trapping Jaune in the land of the living. Jaune's mind mentally sighed, then slowly, ever so slowly, Jaune pushed his way through the treacle of sleep and dragged his body back to consciousness. His tired eyelids fluttered open, though it took several seconds for his eyes to focus on anything, and then several seconds more for his brain to comprehend the images they saw.

"Jaune," smiled Phillip, retracting his hand from Jaune's shoulder. "Are you awake? Wait, of course you are. Unless you sleep with your eyes open. Do you do that?" Jaune gave a non-committal grunt. "Right, you're awake. Sorry for doing that. I would have waited till you woke up, but you seemed to be sleeping in quite a bi-"

"Why did you wake me, Phil?" Jaune cut in.

"Oh, right, yeah. There was a reason. Is a reason. You know that task you set me?" Jaune stared blankly at the dark-haired, red-armoured man. "Finding Vale's frequency?" Phil prompted. Oh, that. Jaune had asked Phillip to try to retune the captured Atlas transmitter to whatever frequency the Valesian army was using. To be honest, Jaune had completely forgotten about that, and he was amazed that Phil had kept trying to fulfil Jaune's request. "Well, it took me a little longer than expected. I had to repair the transmitter. Then redesign it to broadcast and receive short distance radio waves. Then I didn't know if Vale were using VHF or UHF, AM or FM. I was basically going blin – I'm boring you, aren't I? Damnit, I keep getting side-tracked. It happens every time I talk about machines – well, never mind. The point is… I found it!" Phil looked to Jaune triumphantly.

He… he found it?

Slowly, something loosened in Jaune's chest from the knot it had been dormant in and began to unfurl itself. It raised its glimmering head a few inches, the terror of being proven wrong a restraining force pinning it down from anything more than the slightest action. Yet still its presence was felt throughout Jaune's whole body; an electric shiver that somehow revitalised his muscles in a way that no amount of sleep could ever accomplish.

Hope.

"Show me," was all Jaune said.

Thirty seconds later, Jaune ducked into Phillip's tent. The first thing he saw when he entered was the stolen transmitter, now merrily blasting out hisses and crackles of static which may have resembled garbled voices. The second thing he noticed was Cat, staring glumly at nothing. The moment he entered she snapped her eyes onto him, and her face morphed into a disgusted sneer. She rose stiffly, muttered a quick goodbye to Phil, then marched out of the tent, her nose upturned in distaste, without so much as regarding Jaune. Jaune let her go.

"Why was she here?" he asked Phil instead.

"What, Cat? Oh, she's been helping me retune the transmitter most nights. Or at least, partially. She's also been helping, uh, Naomi…" If Phil expected some sort of reaction from Jaune, he was disappointed. Jaune simply nodded and moved towards the transmitter. He wasn't ready to deal with Naomi yet. He wondered if he ever would be.

Phil hurried after Jaune to the transmitter and began babbling on about the technicalities and voice procedure of talking to the Valesian High Command. Jaune zoned most of it out, and when Phil realised he'd lost his one-man audience, he coughed awkwardly into his hand and hurriedly pulled the microphone piece towards himself.

"This is Sapper Phillip Blitz of Beta section, requesting to speak with Vale HQ. Can anyone hear me, over." The two men waited expectantly. This was it. Their best, and maybe only chance of getting out of this alive. It all depended on whether their transmission had been heard. If not… well, best to wait till it came to that to worry about it.

Jaune waited a moment for a response. And then another. And then another. Phil repeated his line again, but the little box remained stubbornly silent except for the crackling of static.

Jaune's shoulders drooped and his head fell. Of course they wouldn't reach the authorities. That would be too much to hope for. Why had he allowed himself to bel-

" _Sapper Phillip Blitz, this is Vale HQ three,"_ a voice, badly distorted and barely intelligible, grated out of the radio. _"We read you loud and clear. Go ahead."_ Phil almost sagged with relief, and even Jaune's spirits rose. They'd been heard. They were no longer alone.

"HQ three, I have an important message to relay to the Valesian high command," said Phil. "Requesting permission to speak to Headquarters-actual, over."

" _Affirmative, Sapper Blitz, wilco. Wait five, over and out."_ Phillip sat back looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

"Now what?" Jaune asked.

"Now we wait."

Approximately five minutes later, a new, gravelly voice rumbled from the transmitter, _"Who is this?"_ From the tone of those three words alone, Jaune could tell he was listening to someone senior than himself. Much senior.

"Errr, it might be better if you talk to this guy. Y'know, cause you're the leader an' all…" Before Jaune could even muster the energy to argue, the microphone was swiftly dropped into his hand, condemning Jaune to what was bound to be an unpleasant conversation. Great.

"What am I meant to do with this?" he hissed.

"Tell him your rank and squadron, then ask him for aid."

"This is Sergeant Arc of Beta section, over," droned Jaune, mimicking the language Phil had used earlier.

" _Beta section?"_ demanded the gruff voice. _"Our records say that section went MIA a week ago."_ A questioning glance at Phil.

"Missing in action," Phillip answered Jaune's implied question.

"We were, sir. We were ambushed on a training exercise and forced to flee into the woods. We're stranded in the forest somewhere to the North of Vale and we need immediate rescue." A pause. "Over." There. It was done. They'd finally managed to reach someone who could actually help them. This man, whoever he was, could trace their radio signal and send a bullhead to pick them up. The little coil in his chest untwisted itself even further, sensing the ray of light the little transmitter offered and reaching for it like a growing sapling. They weren't going to die in the woods. They were going to survive. They were going ho—

" _Negative."_

Jaune's heart froze. That couldn't be right. Jaune must be confusing his radio codes. Or maybe he'd only received half the message, and that the other half had been lost in transmission.

"Sorry sir, I think I missed your last transmission. Say again."

" _Negative soldier. We can't afford to spare the manpower for a search and retrieval of a single section. We will not be rescuing you."_

Jaune's heart started, missed a beat, stopped, then shuddered into motion again. "You must have misheard me, sir," he said, trying to keep his voice level, even if it was taking every ounce of his willpower not to scream into the mic. "My section and I are alone in the woods with limited supplies. We can't last long out here. We need immediate recovery."

" _Perhaps_ you _, misheard_ me _, soldier,"_ the voice seemed to sneer. _"Negative. We cannot spare the resources. You're on your own."_

No. No, no, no, this couldn't be happening.

"Sir," he gritted out, teeth clenched, "there are ni – eight soldiers in my squadron. If we do not receive aid, we will all die."

" _This is war, soldier,"_ the voice stated calmly. Far too calmly. _"Soldiers die. That is your job. Do you think you are the only section to have gotten lost in this damn invasion?"_ Jaune hadn't thought of that. _"There is a large base to the North, as yet holding the line against Atlas. The coordinates are 13 degrees 12 minutes north, 4 degrees 36 minutes east. If you make your own way there, they can resupply your section and give you new orders. But that is all the aid you will be receiving."_

"No, no sir, you don't understand," Jaune pleaded. "We have no idea where we are. There are enemy soldiers and Grimm in this forest. We won't survive the trek to this base."

" _Then that is your problem, soldier."_

A hot, unexpected anger suddenly burnt through Jaune's veins. "You would allow eight good soldiers to die because you refused to help them?" he demanded.

" _I have thousands of soldiers under my command, boy,"_ the man shot back, equally hot. _"I will not risk any more of them or their equipment to save the handful of men you have. You must get out of your problems yourselves."_

"And if we fail," Jaune growled.

" _I can afford to lose eight soldiers,"_ the man replied, his tone frozen. " _You are on your own. Over and out."_

Jaune gripped the microphone so hard he was afraid it would shatter. "Sir. Sir! Come in! Answer me!" Nothing but cold static was his answer. "Dammit!" he screamed, hurling the microphone down. He would have kicked the transmitter if Phil hadn't leapt to his feet and snatched up his precious machine.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he yelped, cradling the transmitter to his chest like a new-born baby. "Easy Jaune! We might still need this!"

"Damnit, Phil, didn't you hear him?" Jaune demanded, his blood still boiling. "There's no help coming. They've abandoned us to die!"

"Hey, easy there. I know. I heard."

Jaune slumped to the ground, suddenly finding his limbs too heavy to keep up. The thing that had been building in his chest flickered and choked, before sputtering out of existence as it was swallowed up by the darkness that swept back in to claim Jaune. The despair he'd been able to ignore for the last few minutes slammed back into him, so hard he reeled, as if it were desperate to make up the time it had lost. Jaune felt his emotions shrivel up under the black smog that clogged every vein and artery in his body. There was no reason to keep fighting. It was hopeless. It always had been. When would he learn this?

"What do we do, Sarge?" Phillip asked. No, begged. He was terrified and was looking to his leader for strength. Strength that Jaune couldn't provide.

"Do whatever you want," he heard himself say through a million-mile tunnel. "I'm going back to bed."

Silence. It invaded the tent and smothered the two men, stifling anything Phil might have tried to say. Instead he simply gawked at Jaune, as if unable to accept that the belief he'd held that Jaune was a good leader was false, as if he couldn't believe that all Jaune had ever been was a lie. A fantasy. A dream. But like all dreams, this delusion couldn't have lasted.

Slowly, Jaune struggled to his feet and plodded over to exit the tent, leaving the flabbergasted Phillip behind. But just as he reached the entrance, a voice held him back.

"So that's it? You're just giving up?" Phil challenged.

"I gave up three days ago, Phil," Jaune tiredly explained. "I'm just catching up to that decision."

"What about surviving? What about getting home? Don't you care about any of that? Aren't you at least going to try to make it?"

"What's the point? There's nothing for me in Vale. No one would miss me." Jaune turned his back on his friend and reached for the flap.

"That's not true," Phil tried. "I know you went to Beacon. What about your friends there? What about your team? They'll miss you."

Jaune became very still very suddenly, his hand still outstretched towards the tent flap. He clenched his eyes shut and counted to ten. When he opened them again, his voice was steady and his words impassive. "They won't miss me. They probably hate me."

"That's not true," Phil countered. "Teams are closer than family. They'll be devastated if you die."

"You're wrong," Jaune gritted out. "You have no idea what happened between us." _So stop poking_ he didn't say.

"Then tell me," begged Phil. "Maybe I can help you with it. Your friends still want to see you again Jaune, no matter what you say."

Help him? Help _him_? What the hell did Phillip know about what Jaune was going through? Jaune didn't want to be helped, damnit, he wanted to be punished. Hated. Maybe that would make the spear of guilt in his heart hurt a little less.

A white spike of anger pierced the black cloud within him and Jaune latched onto it, suddenly wanting, _needing_ to yell at someone. Anyone. He was sick of everyone thinking he was such a saint. Sick of people thinking he needed help, like some fairy tale princess stuck in a tower, needing to be rescued. Sick of himself. He wanted to reveal everything he'd done, just so someone else could see him for what he really was and hate him for it.

"What do you know anyway?!" he exploded. "You graduated Beacon just fine. You probably never got into anything worse than a minor disagreement with your team. You probably still feel fine showing your face to your friends. Well I don't! I betrayed them. I went behind their backs and hurt one of them, and I knew exactly what I was doing as I did it!" Jaune felt two, hot tears prick his eyes, then slowly wend their way over the contorts of his face before dripping off his chin and shattering on the ground. He made no move to wipe their trails away. "They were the best people I ever knew. Enthusiastic. Kind. Calm. They were my friends. And I… I…" Jaune couldn't go on. The bandage he'd so carefully placed was being savagely yanked off and the wound he'd tried so hard to close was tearing open; raw and savage and bloody and oh so painful.

In an instant, everything Jaune had ever done with his team, every meal they'd eaten together, every laugh they'd ever shared, every kind word and helping hand they'd ever offered each other came spinning through his mind like a hurricane. It turned out he'd been wrong: anger wasn't the only emotion he could still feel. Because right now he felt every ounce of pain and regret and useless desire to go back in time and change what he'd done lance through his body at once, a thousand knives slicing and jabbing and cutting away at Jaune, leaving him full of tiny holes that could never, ever, ever be filled and all because of one moment of stupidity, one moment of weakness that had stolen away everything he'd ever loved and oh god it _hurt hurt hurt_.

"They're better off without me," he croaked, his throat raw. "They'll be happier that way." He finally paused, waiting for Phillip's judgement, his condemnation.

"Bullshit." Jaune actually staggered at the uncharacteristic swear Phil had used, and even more so at the unexpected anger that blazed behind his eyes.

"Wha—?"

"Bullshit," Phil stoutly growled. "You think you're saving them from pain, but you're not. You think you're doing them a favour, well the hell with that idea."

Jaune shook his head. "I threw a jar of tree sap at my partner, knowing full well a swarm of rapier wasps was going to attack her." Why was Phil so adamant that Jaune hadn't done wrong, when he so clearly had? He must have been trying to make him feel better. That was the only logical explanation for it. "They should hate me for what I did."

"They should." That made Jaune pause. "But what they should do, and what they will do are two completely different things. That's what you're forgetting, Jaune. You're family to them. And even if they might hate what you did, they still love _you_. And staying away from them will only hurt them more."

Jaune swayed on his feet, feeling nauseous. "What do you know?" he finally accused.

"Because I was in your situation too," sighed Phillip. He sat down heavily on the floor and seemed to age a hundred years in seconds. "I had a team at Beacon too. And it wasn't all dandy sunshine and picnics. We argued constantly. We fought even more regularly. But I still loved them all." Phillip's eyes glazed over, some memory only he could see playing out before his eyes. "Even when things fell apart."

Jaune hovered uncertainly by the tent entrance. He wanted to leave. Every muscle in his body strained to be out of this suffocating tent where too much had already been said. But something about the way Phil looked as he sat hunched on the ground, about the way he talked, as if frightened of falling into the yawning chasm of sorrow that remained ever-present behind everything he said, kept Jaune rooted to the spot. He knew that look, and the way Phil spoke. He'd seen and heard it in himself. "What happened?" he asked cautiously.

"One of my teammates," began Phil, "Ralph, he… he did something he shouldn't have. In our final year at Beacon, around the time of the Vytal festival, he began meeting with a criminal. Only, this criminal turned out to be his father. I don't know too much of the story. He didn't tell any of us. But our leader, Bea, she found out. She… was actually my sister," Phil admitted. "She confronted him. Demanded to know what he was doing. He played dumb. Bad move. There was a lot of shouting. Like, a lot a lot. Bea called Ralph a traitor. Said he was siding with the enemy. Other stuff too. Worse stuff.

"The problem might have sorted itself out, but somehow, General Ironwood found out." A drop of bitterness oozed into Phil's voice at this. "He wanted to ask Ralph a few questions, or so he claimed. Ralph, he… he didn't like to be cornered like that. He was paranoid about that kind of thing. Probably feared the worst. When he heard Ironwood was looking for him, he scrammed. Fled Beacon before we could stop him.

"The last member of our team, Opal, wanted to go looking for him. Bea refused. In the end, she went on her own." Phil's voice had taken on a slight wobble, and his throated bobbed as he recounted his story. "She came back a day later in tears. Said she'd searched the whole of Vale and hadn't found a trace of him. In the end, she'd finally gone to the docks. There, she'd learnt he'd bought a ticket on a small boat out of Vale not too long ago. But by the time she'd got there, Ralph… Ralph was gone. That was the last time we ever heard from him." Phillip's breathing had become laboured and uneven, each inhale seeming to send a spasm of pain through his face. "Opal had begged and begged me to go with her to look for Ralph. But I… I didn't go. Maybe if I had, we would have found him before he left. Convinced him to come back. It was my fault. But I was still mad at him. I'd sided with Bea during the fight. Of course I had. She was my sister! What else was I supposed to have done?" Phil looked to Jaune, his eyes pleading, and Jaune realised with a start that Phil wasn't just telling his story; he was giving a confession. Begging Jaune for a forgiveness that he couldn't give.

Phillip closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nostrils, his breath hitching every few inhales. Jaune had no idea what to do. He stood there, feeling utterly useless, unable to comfort even one of his closest friends. In the end, he awkwardly sat himself down next to Phil, hoping his presence alone would offer Phil the support he needed.

After a while, Phillip's breathing came back under control, and he continued his story. "After Ralph left, our team fell apart. Opal never forgave me for what I did. Or didn't do. I don't even blame her for it. She left Beacon a few weeks later. That left just me and Bea. It was a shambles. We were a two-man team in the final year of Beacon. We eventually graduated, but more out of pity from the teachers, I think." Phil gave a brittle chuckle. "Look at me. Blabbering on again about myself. I did say I liked to ramble." He sighed deeply, and the two of them lapsed into silence.

"Jaune," Phil finally went on, "even after going behind our backs like that, we still loved Ralph. Even Bea. But when he left like he did, without a word of goodbye, it tore us apart. Him abandoning us hurt more than anything else he could have possibly done to us. Please, Jaune, I'm begging you: don't do the same to your team."

"How?" implored Jaune meekly. "How can I face them again? What do I even say?"

"That's for you to decide. You can try to cut yourself off from them. You can claim it's for their own good. But you're just being selfish. Taking the easy way out for your mistakes. Punishment is easy, Jaune. Too easy. Redemption though – now there's the real challenge."

Jaune fell silent. He didn't reply when Phil eventually got up and excused himself. He didn't move when Phil left the tent. He didn't react as the other members of Beta section began moving around outside, getting reader to attack another day. He was too deep in thought.

Finally, after an age of contemplation, Jaune rose to his feet. Nothing had changed of their position. They were still stuck in a hostile forest. They'd still been abandoned by their own army. But somehow, something felt different as Jaune stepped blinking into the morning light. It took him a few more minutes to realise what it was. That little glowing presence in his chest wasn't there anymore.

Because it was everywhere else in his body.

His limbs shook off their dusty fatigue. His eyes burnt with a determination he thought he'd lost. He legs carried his body with purposeful strides. Their situation hadn't changed. But Jaune had. Because for the first time since this whole madness had begun, Jaune had a reason to fight on; not an aimless, generic reason to not fail, or to not let Sarge down, but a meaningful, personal one worth the risks of failure. Jaune needed to get home…

…because Jaune needed to apologise to his team.

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 **Yes! Part 2 of this story is completed. Cue seamless inclusion of the rest of the RWBY cast. You guys have been asking if team NPR would be making an appearance since, like, chapter 2, so I am pleased to finally give Jaune the good kick up the backside he needed and a shove in his friends' direction. Who would have thought it would have been Phillip of all people to give Jaune the much needed one-to-one pep talk? Well I did, but that's besides the point...**

 **So yes, team NPR at least will be making a reappearance at some point, though fair warning, Jaune's not out of the woods yet: literally! It's still going to be a while until Beta section make it home and Jaune gets a chance to reunite with his team. You guys might be wondering why I've locked so closely on Beta section these last few chapters and have completely ignored anything to do with the characters at Beacon, Commander Beatrice Blitz, or the villains, but trust me, that's 100% intentional. I included those earlier chapters in Atlas so you guys would understand what's happening, but now I am intentionally keeping you guys in the dark in exactly the same way that Beta section are more or less clueless about what's going on. Until this chapter, they didn't even know if Vale was still standing, and there was no way to tell how the war was going. In war, soldiers are very often kept on a strict need-to-know basis, and I wanted to mimic that for you guys, so you'd almost be able to get a taste for what it's like to be the lowly soldier on the ground, without a clue what your higher-ups are planning for your fate and with no way of getting information on the larger scale conflict.**

 **In other news, I am so pleased that Jaune if finally out of his slump. That was not fun to write about, believe me. I love my precious Jaune Arc, hence why I've kept his lowest point relatively short, though it probably felt longer for you guys who have to wait a fortnight between chapters. Worry not, although Jaune's problems are far from over, things won't be as bad in future as they have been. At least for a while. Probably. Maybe.**

 **Anyway, don't forget to like, share and subscri - wait, wrong platform. Just read and review or whatever...**


	14. Chapter 14 - Regroup

**Happy Easter Monday everyone! Sorry this is late, I'll explain why at the end of the chapter.**

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" _War is a series of catastrophes that results in a victory"_

 _George Clemenceau_

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 **Chapter Fourteen—Regroup**

Jaune took several deep, calming breaths, steadying his racing heartbeat. His disobedient hand hovered in front of him but refused to move any closer to Jaune's target, its instincts of self-preservation overcoming Jaune's own commands.

He didn't want to do this. By god he didn't want to do this. He wanted to fake his death, run away to Mistral, dig a nuclear bunker there and bury himself away from this nightmare, never to look back. That's what his instincts were screaming at him to do.

Unfortunately, his conscience had other ideas.

It was only right that he attempted to do this. He was the leader. This was his responsibility. And goodness knew he had skirted that for long enough as it was. This had to be done. And even though he wished he could be anywhere expect in front of this suffocating tent and what Jaune knew lay on the inside, he knew he could do this. At least, he told himself he could.

He hoped he could.

Without letting himself a moment more to realise how screwed he was, Jaune gritted his teeth and, with a mental effort that was truly remarkable, reached out and snatched the entrance flap to Naomi's tent. Even as his body internally screeched, he flung the bit of fabric wide open and almost walked face first into the person exiting the tent.

A blue and green eye blinked at Jaune. Jaune's cobalt eyes blinked back. "Errr…" he began lamely.

Cat's eyes flashed with restrained fury as she realised who she had almost face palmed against, her standard emotion for Jaune burning away the shock that had occupied them nanoseconds before. "What do you want?" she snapped.

"Is… is Naomi in there?" he stuttered, then winced. It was her tent. Where else would she be? Cat's raised eyebrow said as much.

"Alright, enough of this bullshit," muttered Cat. She fixed her venomous gaze on Jaune. "We need to talk."

Crap. Crap, crap, crap. This was worse. This was so much worse than sorting out Naomi. At least Naomi wasn't liable to rip Jaune's throat out if he said the wrong thing to her.

"Can, can this… wait?" Jaune stuttered, daring to hope. "It's just that I was kind of hoping, to, uh, talk to, um, Naomi…" Jaune's pitiful excuses shrivelled up to a crisp and died a painful death under Cat's burning eyes. Her glare was answer enough to Jaune's question.

"We need to talk," she repeated, any and all argument flattened beneath her stubborn determination. Jaune's will crumbled, and he meekly followed Cat into the woods surrounding their camp. Jaune couldn't help but draw a comparison between this and being led to his execution.

When they'd travelled a fair distance away, and Cat stilled showed no signs of stopping, Jaune dared to ask, "Cat, where are we go—?"

"Shut up," she ordered, and Jaune obliged.

When they were quite a way into the forest (and out of shouting range of the camp, Jaune noted) Cat finally halted. Jaune winced, waiting for the ire that would inevitably turn on him. He wasn't disappointed.

"Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Cat demanded, spinning on Jaune. Jaune cowered under the weight of sheer loathing that bore down on him from that gaze. "Everything you've done up to this point has been stupid and unleaderlike. You have the crazy idea to take on an Atlas base and as a central part of your plan, you send a kid straight into the most dangerous place you could have."

"I… Buzz wanted t—"

"By sheer dumb luck, your plan works," continued to rant Cat, ignoring Jaune's protests, "but surprise, surprise, shit hits the fan, and because you're so busy rushing at a swarm of Grimm, just begging to be killed, Naomi has to go after you, and then Buzz after her. And because of that, Buzz dies." Jaune shuddered.

"I didn't mean for that to ha—"

"But then, instead of making sure your section is ok, you leave the rest of us to pick up the pieces _you_ left. Nuke wouldn't have even eaten anything if I hadn't been forcing her to. But you didn't visit her once! Not a single bloody time, in four days. Did you even consider what Buzz's death would do to her? Did you even check to see if she was coping?"

"I know, I should ha—"

"But no! You decide you have it so much worse than the rest of us and go into mopey mode. You left us without a leader when we needed one most."

"Cat, I'm sor—"

"You think you're the only one who was affected by what happened? Well guess what, dipshit: we _all_ lost Buzz that day, not just you. We all wanted to give up, but you know what? We couldn't. _You_ couldn't! But you did anyway an—"

"I know!" shouted Jaune. Now it was Cat's turn to take an involuntary step back, shocked that Jaune had dared to interrupt her. A part of him was equally horrified, and desperately tried to reign Jaune in, but Jaune stuffed it into a deep corner of himself. Cat was right to be mad, and he wanted her to know that he agreed with her. That he didn't think what he'd done had been acceptable. Or even forgivable. "I know what I did was wrong. I know I should have been there for you guys. I know that I should have been the one to look after Naomi. I'm sorry, Cat. I wasn't a good leader."

Cat stood stunned for a full second, before disdain washed over her features again. "Sorry doesn't help that," she scorned.

"I know," Jaune sighed. "I know. I can't go back and change what I did, or rather what I didn't do. But I'm going to start trying to fix things from now on. That's what I was trying to do at Naomi's tent."

"Some things aren't so easy to fix," Cat sneered, "like a dead sibling." Jaune flinched. Every word from her mouth was like venom spat into his face. "Do you have any idea what that's done to Nuke? She doesn't want to eat anything. She can barely walk. She just sits in her tent and stares. Nothing I do will make her talk. Nothing I do seems to help. She's not the same. But you apparently don't even give enough of a shit about that to find out for yourself."

"Is that why you hated me these last few days?"

"Partially," was all she said. Jaune looked at her. Really looked at her, desperate to find what was really the source of her distain for him. Trying to read Cat was like trying to look into a locked and chained metal box; Cat had completely sealed her feelings away from the outside. Any other person might have given up and assumed that the hatred Cat was showing was the only thing to be found, but Jaune knew better. He'd grown up with seven sisters and knew that rarely what was being shown on the front was the end of the story.

So he looked into the only place Cat couldn't close off completely, the keyhole to the impenetrable container she'd placed herself in: her eyes. He followed them down into the depths of those blazing colours: the stormy, untameable ocean of her right, roaring and roiling in an uncontrollable azure fury as she looked at Jaune. There was resentment there. Her left eye burnt no less passionately, but it was with the harshness of an oak, the immovability of the grass covered earth; an emerald mountain judging Jaune with the surety of a force of nature. Blame was the dominant emotion there.

But still he looked deeper, down and down and down into the pits of her onyx pupils, until finally, he found what he was looking for; the place that even Cat probably thought was buried too deep beneath her rage to be found. There he saw… sadness. And helplessness. Cat was putting up a furious front to hide those emotions behind. Why hadn't he seen this before?

"You really cared about Buzz, didn't you?" Cat stiffened immediately, and Jaune knew he'd guessed correctly.

Cat pursed her lips, and for a moment looked like she would refuse to say anything else. But then she seemed to deflate, and some shadow of pained sorrow fell across her face. "I was an only child growing up," she mumbled. "Nuke's like the sister I never had. And that made Buzz my brother by extension."

"Do you blame me for getting him killed?" Cat's smouldering eyes were answer enough. "Cat… I'm sorry—"

"Don't say that," she snapped, some of the fire coming back into her voice, "like it's all alright. Like this can just be brushed off with a simple apology. It can't. It can't just be forgiven and forgotten, no matter how much you want that to be the case."

"You're wrong," Jaune whispered sadly. "I will never, never pretend that day didn't happen," he vowed. "I will never try to forget my failure. I will take that memory to the grave. And I promise you, I will never let that happen again." Although Jaune spoke of Buzz's death, he meant so much more than that. Pushing away Pyrrha when she'd tried to train him because of his pride. Never again. Hurting his team by throwing a jar of sap at them because of his fear. Never again. Rushing off to face the Grimm alone, heedless of how his squad would react because of his stupidity. Never again. Jaune Arc had made more mistakes as a leader than anyone in the section. Each of those had threatened to tear him apart. Each of those had made him stronger. Now wasn't the time for wishing those mistakes hadn't happened.

Now was the time to learn from them.

Cat was watching him with an odd expression, but at least some of her loathing seemed to have seeped away at last. "You asked me what I thought I was doing," he said. "I'm going to start making amends for failing to be a good leader. I'm going to fix this section, starting with Naomi, if you'll let me."

"It might already be too late for her," muttered Cat miserably.

"I'm not ready to give up on her just yet," Jaune told her sternly. "Are you?" Cat's eyes were ablaze with defiance as she looked at him. "Good," he nodded. "Now I need to do something I should have done a long time ago." Jaune turned away from Cat and began to head back to the camp towards Naomi's tent.

"About bloody time," he heard Cat mutter behind him.

* * *

"Naomi?" asked Jaune as he ducked into her tent. The inside had a stale, musky smell to it, and the interior was dimly lit, a few shafts of sunlight piercing through holes in the canvas the only source of light. It was so dark in fact, that he didn't notice Naomi immediately. However, as he glanced around, his eyes soon fell onto spiky, blue hair. It was matted with dirt and sweat and hung limply over her left eye. Naomi was sitting on the floor, her knees pulled against her chest, her arms wrapped protectively around them, and she rocked back and forth slightly. She looked… lost. But her visible brown eye still flicked to Jaune when he entered.

Good. At least she was responsive.

"Naomi," he said softly, as if trying to coo a frightened animal. Naomi made no response. "Naomi, talk to me," Jaune begged. Naomi just continued to rock. What did Jaune even say to her? What could he possibly do that would make the pain of losing Buzz any less? "Naomi… I'm sorry," was all he could say. "I'm sorry for what happened to Buzz. He was my friend too. One of the first I had in this army. I wish… I wish it didn't go the way it did." The words were rushing out of Jaune's mouth now, an unceasing torrent of pleads and confessions. "Buzz didn't deserve what happened to him. He deserved to get home more than any of us. He was always so positive. So optimistic. So young. He… I should have been the one to die there. That's what a leader should do, isn't it? He should be the one to protect his team. But I didn't. I wasn't able to get to him. I… I…" Jaune guttered off into silence. Naomi was still watching him, still rocking. _Back and forth, back and forth, back and fo_ rth.

This wasn't what Naomi wanted to hear, what she needed to hear. Wishful thinking wouldn't bring Buzz back. Jaune couldn't keep looking to the past. The time for that was gone.

"But… but Buzz did die. He died… to save you." _Back and forth, back and forth._ "Buzz gave up his life for you, Naomi. He loved you so much, he was willing to sacrifice himself to save your life." _Back and forth, back and forth._ "But what you're doing now, shutting down and giving up…" _Back and forth, back and forth,_ "...You're spitting on his memory."

Naomi stopped rocking.

"Buzz wanted you to have life. He wanted you to survive and get home so bad, he didn't even mind if he died for it. But you're not even trying to get back to Vale. You've given up. You've made his sacrifice worthless. If you don't keep fighting… then Buzz died for nothing."

Silence. Naomi brown eye tracked Jaune without a word. Even in the darkness of the tent, Jaune could see it glistening with tears. But then that eye fell to the ground, and Naomi resumed rocking.

This was hopeless. "I'm sorry Naomi," whispered Jaune, turning to leave.

"It should have been me," a meek voice whispered behind Jaune, barely louder than a hiss of escaping breath. Jaune spun back to face Naomi. "I should have been the one to sacrifice myself to save Buzz. I'm the older one. I should have been the one to protect him, not the other way around…"

"I know Naomi, I know." Jaune remembered what Naomi had revealed to him the night before it all went to hell. How she had spent her whole life looking after her brother, keeping him safe. And then in the one moment where it had really mattered, Naomi had been unable to save him. The guilt of that must be tearing Naomi apart. "But Buzz no doubt knew that too. He knew you'd be willing to give your life for him, but he didn't want that. His last act was to give you life. And maybe… maybe to give us life too." Naomi rotated to look at him fully, her fringe finally falling away to reveal her second eye. "We can't do this without you Naomi," Jaune told her. "You're the smartest person here, and we'll need those brains if we want to figure out a plan to get out of here. If we want to survive.

"Buzz wanted to be useful to the team; that's why he volunteered to infiltrate the Atlas outpost. You must have figured that out, Naomi. Well Buzz's final act was the most useful thing he could have done: saving you.

"I can't bring Buzz back, and I'm sorry about that. But don't you see? You have to live. You have to get up and keep fighting. If not for yourself, then for Buzz. For what he'd want. Don't make his death be for nothing."

"How?" Naomi whispered, her eyes glimmering. "How can I go on without him?"

"I don't know," admitted Jaune. "But I do know one thing. I'll be there for you. And so will Cat. And probably all the others as well. And maybe… just maybe… we'll find a way through this. Together." He extended a hand to her. "Will you let me help you?"

Naomi stared long and hard at the palm in front of her. So long, in fact, that Jaune wasn't sure if she would move at all. But then slowly, hesitantly, she reached out and gripped his hand. Her fingers felt frail and weak, but Jaune held onto them tightly, lending her his strength as he hauled her to her feet, and led her out into the sunshine.

* * *

Later that morning, Jaune stalked through the camp, gathering his men. He found Bounty munching on a ration pack, Aiden on sentry, Phil cleaning Aeron Wasp, Finn resting in his tent and Terry standing guard outside Jaune's command tent. He told them all he wanted them in his tent in five minutes, where Cat and Naomi were already waiting, then headed inside himself.

Jaune waited for his squad to arrive, going over what he'd say to them. Things were bad, but not unsalvageable. They had so much work to do, but if they started now, they might just be able to see it through. Goodness knew when they'd be ambushed by another large force of Grimm again. They needed to do something before that happened.

Terry entered first, followed closely by Phil and Aiden. Bounty came next, grumbling that he was missing his breakfast, and last came Finn, though he didn't look too happy about it. Jaune waited another few moments, feeling his heart hammer against his chest. He'd never been very good at public speaking, and now that everyone was here his legs were converting to jelly and his bowels turning into water. But nonetheless, he stepped forward to address his men.

"Ok everyone, I called you here now because we need to talk," he began. "We need to figure out how we're going to get home. So far we've done nothing but walk and hope for the best. That clearly isn't working. If we get attacked again, by Grimm or Atlas, we won't stand a chance. I need suggestions on how we could get back to Vale."

Jaune paused for several seconds, looking to his men. They shuffled around awkwardly, kicking their feet and avoiding his eyes, but none of them came up with anything. That in itself was weird. Not that they didn't have any ideas, but that none of them, not even Bounty, had anything sarcastic or snarky to say. Something wasn't right.

Eventually, it was Finn who broke the silence. "I can't believe this," he muttered. "Fine then, if no one else is willing to say what needs to be said, I'll be the bad guy." He turned to Jaune and squared his shoulders. "What makes you think we even want you to be our leader anymore? What makes you think you deserve it after what happened? You messed up, Arc. Badly. Buzz died because of you—" Naomi flinched "—and since then you've done nothing to make it better. You can't just prance in here now calling yourself leader and ignore all that."

Jaune blinked, then looked around to the others. "You've all been thinking this?" Not a single set of eyes were brave enough to meet his. Even Phil stood shamefaced, so he'd clearly had his doubts at some point, even if he'd ultimately come to the conclusion that Jaune was still a good leader.

Jaune bowed his head and loosened a shaky breath. So that was why everyone was so awkward around him. He understood why, and in their situation he may have felt the same, but… it hurt. That so many of them doubted him. That deep down, even his friends thought he couldn't succeed.

"Guys, I… I'm asking you to believe in me. You voted me in as your leader. Now you need to trust me. Trust that I will do everything I can to get you all out of this. That I _will_ get you all out of this. Trust that there is a way, and that we will find it."

"And Buzz?" asked Finn. "Did you get him out of this too?" Jaune closed his eyes quickly, masking the sudden liquid that rushed into them. No. He hadn't.

"Bullshit," came a feral growl from behind Finn. Jaune opened his eyes in surprise, blinking away the moisture. "Buzz died because of all of us," snarled Cat. She was on her feet in front of Jaune, facing the others, her body placed protectively between Jaune and Finn. Her gaze was furious, and she shot daggers at everyone in the tent. "I wanted to blame Jaune. I think a part of me still does, but deep down I think—no, I know—it's bullshit. We were all there. We could all have pulled Naomi back, or stopped Buzz from going after her, or moved sooner to get her back behind our line, or any number of other things which would have saved him. But we just sat there like fucking chickens, doing nothing. And you can give yourselves any number of bullshit reasons why you didn't react, but I for one know exactly why I didn't move until it was too late. Because I was terrified. Scared shitless. We were _all_ cowards that day, and we _all_ share the blame for that."

"Cat—"

"But you know what? I'm sick of being scared. I'm tired of feeling hopeless and pessimistic. I'm done with thinking I'll die out here, alone and abandoned. If I do go down, then I'm doing it swinging." She turned, facing Jaune, her eyes aflame with passion. "Tell me you'll get us home. Tell me you won't shut down again when we need you. Promise me that you'll do everything in your power to not let anyone else die out here."

"I promise," said Jaune, and he meant it.

"Good," nodded Cat, and it seemed to Jaune almost like some of the tension in her body eased at that moment, as if whatever dark thoughts she'd been caring on her shoulders had been lifted at the realisation that she didn't have to face them alone. "Then I trust you, Sergeant Arc." Cat turned to glare icicles at the other members of Beta section, as if daring them to contradict her assessment. None did.

"Me too," stated Phil instead, coming to stand beside Jaune with Cat. "I wouldn't want anyone else leading me."

"I… apologise for doubting you, Jaune," said Aiden, joining them. "I know you will do everything you can to save us. I will follow you to whatever end."

Now Naomi stood on unstable feet, and Cat rushed to support her. But Naomi's voice was steady as she said, "For Buzz."

Jaune looked around at his rapidly growing band of followers, and felt his chest swell with pride even as tears stung his eyes again. They were really willing to follow him. Even after he'd messed up, they were willing to give him another chance. Words couldn't describe the gratitude he felt at their commitment.

"Do… do you reckon they'll give us medals for this?" asked Terry hopefully. Jaune couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. "Well, uh, just cause… I figured if we survive this it might be a good thing to, uh, show my dad. Prove that I did it, you know," Terry mumbled, his face turning crimson.

"If we survive this, I reckon they'll give us all trophies," answered Jaune.

"Then count me in!" grinned Terry.

That left just Finn and Bounty. "What do you say, guys?"

Bounty leant back in his chair, pulling on his scraggly beard as he thought. "Eh, sure, why not," he eventually decided. "It can't be any worse than the alternative." He came over to join them, but Jaune noticed that he moved as far away from Cat as possible. Just another thing he'd have to deal with later.

"Finn?" Jaune asked. Finn said nothing for a few seconds. He pulled a hand through his dark hair and over his scratchy stubble. He seemed to consider them as they stood there around Jaune, no doubt noticing the hostility and the guardedness against him that even Jaune could feel. The others wouldn't welcome him. Jaune could see as much, and apparently so could Finn, for his face darkened, and his eyes became jaded. He opened his mouth to spit on Jaune's offer—

"Finnegan, please," whispered Aiden. "I would like you to come with us."

Finn stood, his mouth slightly ajar, before closing it with a snap. He stared long and hard at the wolf Faunus, eventually coming to a decision. "Fine," he rumbled. "I'll stick around."

Jaune sighed in relief. He'd done it. He'd convinced his section to trust in him once more. Now he just had to make good on his promise to Cat and get his team home. "Ok, guys. Here's the situation we're in…"

* * *

The squad remained quiet the whole time Jaune recounted the conversation he had had over the radio, and once he had finished, Aiden sat back and considered what he had heard.

"Wait, what?" demanded Cat. "The military is just leaving us to die? We don't even know where the fuck we are. How in hell are we going to get to that base?" That was Cat all right: ever the one to cut straight through the crap.

"That's what we're here to decide," explained Jaune. "We'll never be able to get there if we just walk and hope we'll stumble across something. We need a plan. So, any suggestions anyone?" Beta squad looked to each other questionably.

"I could, I mean, I might be able to make us a simple GPS system," offered Phil. "Probably. Maybe. If I had the right tools. Or the right materials. Which I don't."

"Real helpful, Lightning," remarked Cat.

"Why don't we just attack another Atlas base?" suggested Terry. "Maybe they'd have a map there."

"You want to attack a whole base for the sake of a single map?" scoffed Finn. "That's ridiculous."

"No, it's not," interjected Naomi, stirring from where she sat huddled in the corner. Finn blinked at her, surprise she was even talking, let alone defending Terry. "We won't survive a walk back, but we don't need to. What if we flew?" The others stared blankly at her for a moment, before realisation dawned on their faces.

"I don't get it," said Terry. Well maybe not on _all_ of their faces.

"If we can't walk, we need another mode of transport," explained Naomi, her voice gaining strength as she continued. "Well what about an airship? A bullhead would undoubtedly include a GPS system as well, killing two Nevermore with one stone."

"That could work," mused Jaune.

"Except for one problem," interrupted Finn. "How do we find another base." No one had any answer to that. The last one they had found easily enough, thanks to the high density of bullheads that had been flying overhead. Alas, they had not seen an airship for days now, so that option was off the table. Aiden racked his brain silently, searching for a solution. If only there was a way to find out where Atlas was. Where their ships were flying, and where they were going. They needed more information before they could do anything else, but how could they get it?

"Maybe… maybe I could, I don't know, make something to help," offered Phillip. "I'm good at making stuff. Except, again, tools and materials…"

"You could dismantle the transmitter to get the materials you need," Terry encouraged. Phil stared at him aghast. Bounty chuckled—

And that's when it hit Aiden.

"The transmitter," he whispered. The others looked at him.

"The transmitter," he repeated, "that is the key. We took it from an Atlas outpost, did we not?" Jaune nodded. "Then surely it was tuned in to Atlas's frequency. So what is to stop us from retuning it back."

"Then we could intercept their signals and figure out where they are," finished Naomi. Aiden nodded.

"Err, one problem guys…" interjected Phil. "I, I don't remember what the original frequency was."

"I do," stated Cat. The others looked to her. "What? If I hadn't remembered which frequencies we'd already tried, Lightning would have been going around in circles forever."

"Then… then we can really do it," thrilled Terry. "We can really find out where they are."

"It will not be that simple," added Aiden, curbing Terry's excitement. "They are unlikely to give coordinates often for fear of being intercepted, and they may even use a code. But if we listen to them for long enough—"

"We can figure out their code," finished Naomi.

"And find out where a nearby ship is," nodded Aiden.

Aiden felt something tremble through the group at his words. Some shiver of excitement, of hope, rippling between them. They could really do it. There was a way. It was a small chance. Little more than a glimmer of light in their otherwise murky world, but where there was even a sliver of a chance that they could make it, there was hope. And hope, like a smallest spark on a pile of kindling, was reigniting the fight in each and every member of Beta section. Even Finnegan's chin was held high and his jaw set in determination.

"What are your orders, Sergeant Arc," asked Terry, turning back to their leader.

Jaune considered for a moment, before saying, "For now, listening in on Atlas should be the priority. We can camp here for a few days while we make that our focus."

"And the Grimm?" asked Finnegan.

"They're just as likely to stumble across our camp as they are to stumble across us while we're walking. At least this way we can dig in and get ready for a potential attack. Naomi and Phil, I'll put you guys in charge of listening in on the transmitter for now. The rest of us will start building some kind of perimeter."

"We're really doing this," breathed Cat. "We're really going to try to get home."

"Yes," Jaune answered, "we are."

* * *

 **Again, I apologise for releasing this chapter later than usual. I only just came back from a trip to Sweden yesterday where I had no electricity for a week, meaning I couldn't write any fanfiction. I got back and basically realised I had a half finished chapter which needed to be uploaded yesterday. Sleep's overrated anyway, right?**

 **That actually brings me quite nicely onto something I need to tell you guys about. I am now counting down the days until my GCSEs, so I am scrambling to cram the entire three year syllabus of, like, ten subjects into my brain. Because of this (as much as I hate to admit it) my fanfiction may need to take a back seat to that. I don't want to do that, so I'm going to keep trying to release a chapter every fortnight as I have been doing, but this is your warning that that may not be possible for a couple of weeks. I'm sorry if that's a bummer to any of you, and it sucks for me too, but we'll see. I'd appreciate your patience during this time.**


	15. Chapter 15 - Tapping the Transmissions

**This Easter holiday has been too short...**

* * *

" _Make up your mind that no matter what comes your way, no matter how difficult, no matter how unfair, you will do more than just survive. You will thrive in spite of it"_

 _Joel Osteen_

* * *

 **Chapter Fifteen—Tapping the Transmissions**

God, Phil was bored.

Oh sure, he knew the work he was doing was of the utmost importance. Vital to the survival of Beta section. Essential to their recover blah blah blah. But that didn't make sitting around a transmitter all day listening to nonsensical conversations fun. Add to that the fact that somehow, despite the paramount nature of the task, it seemed that the others had left only him and Naomi to complete it, and one could excuse Phil for feeling a little restless.

Phil worked the chink out of his neck as he listened to yet another semi-intelligible transmission. _"Opposition proving harder to overcome than previously expected,"_ went the voice on the radio. _"Intelligence believed to be faulty. Repeat, intelligence is faulty. Relay to_ _Black Bishop_ _, over."_

" _Wilco,"_ came the reply _. "Continue to move on objective until new orders are received. Over and out."_

Phil sighed and lowered the creased notebook he'd salvaged from Beta section's supplies as the transmission ended, rubbing his aching temples. Looked like today was going to be more guess work about obscure words' meaning. Just like yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that…

He turned to his companion. "Just once I'd like a nice, easy to understand transmission with clear coordinates of where they are, y'know? None of this codeword BS."

"Yeah," mumbled Naomi, staring through her notebook.

And then there was the other issue.

Phil's stomach twisted at the sight of the dejected Naomi, and his joke curdled under the sombre view. After what had happened to Buzz… Naomi wasn't the same. No one could have expected her to be alright, but those first few days after Jaune had brought them all together and given them a real plan to aim towards, when she'd had something meaningful to do, for a short while it had looked like she was back to normal. But then came the monotonous work, and with that all the time in the world to dwell on unpleasant thoughts. And little by little, day by day, she had closed in further and further. She was still better than she had been immediately after her brother's death at the hands of a Beowolf, but the dark cloud that had smothered and burdened her was slowly creeping back in.

And Phil had no idea what to do about it.

"So, um… this mysterious Black Bishop was mentioned again," he said, hoping to distract her from whatever was eating her up. "Any ideas who that is?"

"Someone important." Naomi didn't elaborate.

Phil sat there for a moment, squirming in the uncomfortable silence. Naomi barely even seemed to notice, simply staring off into the floor expressionless.

Damnit, this couldn't go on. Phil had almost watched his friend disappear into herself entirely only a few days ago. He couldn't let that happen again. He had to say something. But what? What did you say to someone who had gone through what Naomi had? How could words ever make it better? If he said the wrong thing, he might even make it worse. Did he risk screwing up? Or did he wait a little longer, just to see if something might change in her.

Phil sat back, wringing his hands in his lap. It was a nervous tick he had. He'd had it as a kid and had never really gotten over it. Bea had used to scold him for it. Ralph had used to tell him it was a sign of weakness, and that he shouldn't reveal his feelings to his opponent so easily. God, those two had been like his surrogate mother and father, right down to the petty arguments they'd had about anything and everything. He supposed that meant their last argument had been the divorce. The day Bea had pushed too far. The day Ralph had run on them. The day he'd done nothing, too fearful of the consequences.

The day he'd waited.

Waited, and lost everything because of it.

How many times had he looked back on that day and wondered how things might have gone differently if only he'd acted. If only he'd said something. Sure, it might have been the wrong thing, and it might not have solved anything, but it couldn't have made things any worse than they'd ended up. At least there would have been a chance, however slim, that he'd have said the right thing. That he'd have saved the family he'd had. Hadn't that been worth the risk?

Wasn't it worth the risk now?

He didn't know what would happen to Naomi if he did nothing. But he also hadn't known what would have happened to his team all those years ago. And now, here he was again, faced with the decision to do something, or to wait. Could he risk losing another family? Could he afford to wait this time?

The answer, he realised, was a resounding no.

Phil opened his mouth, took in a breath, paused, thought for a second, realised he looked like a fish, quickly shut his mouth and exhaled silently. What to say, what to say, what to say? Phil racked his brain for something, anything, to give to Naomi. But his mind came up only blank. He wasn't good at this sort of thing. Never had been. He didn't have the foggiest clue what he was supposed to say in this sort of situation.

What would his team have said?

Ralph would have said something gruff, probably about getting up and moving on, maybe with a fight thrown in somewhere to take her mind off things. That… honestly seemed a little too insensitive to say to Naomi at that moment. And tackling this problem fists first really wasn't his style. Bea would have probably tried to reason with Naomi to get her back on her feet. Phil doubted he'd be able to mimic that though. What arguments was he even supposed to use? But Opal… his partner would have just said something kind. Comforting. Something straight from the heart. Was that what Naomi needed to hear?

"Naomi…" he began uncertainly, "you know that… I mean, you're not to blame… what I'm trying to say is… Buzz loved you," he finally settled on. "He really loved you."

Naomi drew in a shuddering breath, the first time her true emotions had broken through her numb exterior. When she next spoke, her voice was small and fragile, so hopelessly different to the intelligent woman she'd been that it cracked his heart. "That's the thing. I'm not sure if that's true anymore."

Phil started. "Of course he loved you. Why would you not think that? He gave his life to protect yours. How is that not love?"

"I stifled him, Phil," she confided meekly, still unable to look at him. "I controlled everything he did, everywhere he went. I wouldn't allow him to do anything he wanted to do unless I deemed it was safe, or unless I could be there as well. I thought he didn't mind my protection. But then… that day, at the Atlas outpost… I didn't want him to infiltrate the base. Even though he desperately wanted to, I wouldn't have let him if it wasn't for Aiden advising me to. But when he did it, he did even better than I could have ever imagined. It made me start to wonder. What other stuff have I stopped him from doing which he would have been good at? Which he would have wanted to do?

"And then I almost get myself eaten by a Beowolf and force him to sacrifice himself. Even to the end I controlled his life. I can't help but wonder if, by the end, he began to hate me for that. Or if he should have." Naomi finally looked up at him, her brown eyes glistening. "I wasn't a good sister, was I?"

And Phil, like a stupid idiot, just stared.

He couldn't reply. How could he? Anything he said would come out hollow and meaningless. There was no way he could know what she was feeling. Sure, he'd had a sibling, and he'd lost her as well. But at least she was still alive. Still breathing. Not like Buzz. And even if she hadn't been, their relationship had been completely different. Bea had always been the stronger one. She'd been the leader, and he just the follower. Phil was nothing like Naomi. If anything, Bea had been more like Naomi than him. Actually, the two were incredibly similar now that he thought about it. But there was no way Phil could empathise with Naomi, because he'd never been like her. He'd been like… like…

Like Buzz.

And suddenly, Phil knew what to say. "I had a sister, y'know," he told Naomi. "A twin actually. Bea. She was like you. Clever, brave, protective. She used to look after me too. After we left Beacon, she and I stuck together. We were all we had left of our team."

"What happened?" enquired Naomi, and peeking through the grime of depression, Phil thought he recognised a glimmer of the woman he knew; the one who's thirst for knowledge was unquenchable. Phil knew he'd have to keep talking, even as it tore him apart to do so. But for Naomi, he would.

"We moved around from place to place, looking for a job. Neither of us wanted to become Huntsmen after… well… after what happened with our team. For a while we were ok. But Bea always wanted more. In the end, she wanted too much from me.

"One day she went to the Atlas embassy looking for a job there. She came back and told me she would be joining the Atlas military. No. That _we_ would be joining the Atlas military," Phil corrected, recalling that hated day.

"Why was that a bad thing?" Naomi asked.

"The general of Atlas, General Ironwood, was the reason Ralph ran away. Why Opal never forgave me. If he hadn't gotten involved, maybe I'd still be with my team. Apparently, Bea forgave him for that. But I never did. When she told me that we would be working under him, I just… exploded." Phil closed his eyes as the wave of remembrance broke on him, dragging back to the surface all the raw, savage emotion that had sat festering like a poisoned broth inside of him until that day. "It was 22 years in the making. But suddenly everything she'd ever made me do, every quirk of hers that I had ignored for years, every time she'd told me to do this, that or the other it just… came out. I shouted at her. Said things I shouldn't have. I think a part of me still blamed her for pushing Ralph so far that he ran from us. The next day she left for Atlas, and I stayed in Vale. I even went and joined the Valesian military as a combat engineer just out of spite." He chuckled bitterly, but he felt more like crying. "I haven't spoken to her since."

"Your… your sister is on the other side of this war." Naomi realised. Phil nodded, suddenly feeling the need to spit the acrid, bitter taste out his mouth. It was a fact he had long known about, and had ignored for just as long. "How long ago was this?"

"Two years."

Silence. And then, "Why? Why tell me this?" Naomi asked.

"So you know that however bad you think things were between you and Buzz, they were tenfold worse between me and my sister. But despite all that… I loved her. I still do." Phil admitted. "Even back when I felt stifled by her, I only ever hated her actions, never her. No matter what might have happened between you and Buzz, I know one thing for sure. You loved Buzz. And Buzz loved you. Just… remember that. No matter where you go, or what you do. Buzz would of wanted that."

Naomi didn't move for several seconds. For a moment, Phil wondered if she'd even heard him. But then she said, "Would have."

"What?"

"What Buzz would have wanted. Not 'would of'." A small smile played at the corners of Naomi's lips, and Phil grinned in return. "Thank you, Phil. I know I haven't been myself lately. It's hard, but… you've put at least one fear to rest today. Thank you for that. You're a good friend."

"Ah, don't mention it," said Phil, blushing slightly. "You'd have done the same for me."

"Come on then," said Naomi, uncoiling herself from where she had been sitting and moving over to Phil. "Let's see what we can infer from the notes we've made. I've got a couple of theories about this Black Bishop."

Phil smiled again and felt his heart melding itself back together at the sight. What Naomi had been through… maybe she'd never be the same again. Maybe she'd never be able to fully shed herself of that weight. But Phil had recovered from what had happened between his team, even if it still stung sometimes. And maybe, just maybe, with a little bit of help, Naomi would come as close to a recovery as she could.

And Phil decided then, that he'd be there every step of the way along the road to Naomi's recovery. For his friend.

But just then, Jaune entered the tent. "Hey Jaune," greeted Phil. "You need something?"

"Um, hi guys. I was actually wondering if… well, I've just had this idea and, uh…" Jaune trailed off, blushing. Phil cocked his head, curious as to what was making Jaune so uncomfortable. "Could you come outside actually, Phil?"

"Me? Uh, sure. So long as you're okay holding the fort here, Naomi."

"I'll be alright," she confirmed. "Go get them, Lightning."

"You got it, Nuke," he grinned back.

* * *

"You want me to train you?" queried Phil. Jaune shuffled on his feet awkwardly.

"If you can. I just figured… if we get into another fight, it might be better if I have, more… training, you know," Jaune finished lamely. The idea had actually come to him the night before as he'd sat on watch, his back propped against a tree. He'd been thinking about Beacon and trying to figure out what he'd say to his team if he ever got back to them. Something along the lines of _I was a spineless idiot who didn't deserve to be leader and I'm desperately sorry for screwing up so bad_ , followed by a plethora of apologies and an undignified beg for forgiveness. But try as he might, nothing had sounded right. Nothing had been able to convey just how sorry he was, and how deeply he wanted his friends back.

Frustrated by his shortcomings, Jaune had cast his mind back to that night on the roof of the Beacon dorms. How Pyrrha had seen him struggling and had offered to train him. He'd thought of how much that training might have helped him, had he not been so pig-headed and turned her down.

And then he'd remembered that Phil had graduated Beacon, and a somewhat mortifying idea had popped into his head. What if he asked Phil to train him in combat? It would certainly be beneficial to have the extra guidance if they were ever attacked again. And seeing as they'd be here until they were able to decode the Atlas transmissions, Jaune had realised now was a better time than any to ask for help.

So here he was, except strangely enough, this was somehow managing to be even more embarrassing than how he'd envisioned it.

"I don't know much about swords and shields," admitted Phil. "I'm not sure if I could teach you much about them. Or, y'know, anything about them really."

"Just the hand to hand stuff then," clarified Jaune. "Every little helps, right?"

Phil considered Jaune's preposition, before shrugging. "Alright. Why not."

"Thanks Phil," said Jaune, relaxing. It hadn't been easy to ask for help. Even now it felt like accepting that he wasn't good enough. But considering where not asking for help before had led to… his pride could go stuff itself. He had more important things to be getting on with. "I really appreciate this. I think we shou—wait, what are you doing?"

Phil looked up from where he'd been in the process of lowering his yellow weapon, Aeron Wasp, to the ground. "Getting ready to fight."

"Wait, now?"

"Why not? You got anything better to be doing?"

"No, it's just… well, aren't you going to teach me some moves first?"

Phil shrugged. "Ralph's the one who taught me to fight hand to hand. His psychology was the fastest way to learn is to do so on the fly. Spur of the moment. That kind of thing. I figured I'd teach you the way he taught me." Phil suddenly stopped what he was doing and looked at Jaune sheepishly. "I mean, so long as you're okay with that, of course. Don't worry if you're not. We can do something else."

"No, no, that's, uh… fine by me?" Jaune winced as soon as he'd finished talking. Would taking the coward's option really have been that bad?

Jaune removed his rifle's sling from around his shoulder and dropped it on the ground, taking his sweet time to let the weapon go. Finally reaching the limit of his stalling period, Jaune straightened.

Only to shriek in surprise as Phil swung a fist at his face.

He stumbled backwards, the fist passing inches over his nose as he yanked his head backwards. "Phil, what th—Ooof!" Jaune's breath was knocked out of him as Phil's shoulder collided with his stomach, the tackle lifting him clear off the ground. Jaune had a sickening moment to experience the wonders of flight before his weight caught up with him and he slammed into the dirt. Phil simply rested his foot on Jaune's chest, the warrior standing atop his fallen foe.

"Rule number one of fighting: expect the unexpected. And never lose sight of your opponent."

"That was a dirty trick," Jaune groaned.

"Rule number two: gentlemen rules are for gentlemen's sports. Not fighting."

"Aren't we onto rule number three?"

"Potentially. I'm not really keeping count. The point is, if there's a way to win, you take it. No matter what it is. In a matter of life and death, everything is allowed."

"I thought this was a friendly training session."

"Sometimes with Ralph, you couldn't tell." Phil finally removed his foot and held a hand out for Jaune. Jaune was about to gratefully accept, but then he paused and regarded the offered hand suspiciously. "Good. Now you're learning." Phil retracted his arm, and Jaune got to his feet unaided. "Now punch me."

"Say what now?"

"Throw a punch at me. Go on, I can take it."

Jaune unsteadily raised his fists into a basic fighting stance and pushed one of his fists in Phil's direction. It knocked against Phil's red breastplate, doing more damage to Jaune's knuckles than to Phil.

Phil rolled his eyes. "I said punch me. Not prod me. I need to see how hard you can hit."

"You really want me to punch you as hard as I can?" Phil grinned in answer. "Fine then." Jaune wound his arm back as far as his socket would allow. He took a deep breath and hurled it at Phil's face. Quick as a viper, Phil moved, suddenly besides the fist instead of in front of it. With a casual flick of his wrist, Phil launched Jaune's arm past him, dragging the befuddled Jaune after his stretched limb.

"That's why you never sacrifice balance when attacking," he explained as Jaune rubbed his aching wrist. "If your enemy dodges, you're left exposed."

"So how should I be punching?"

"Legs shoulder-width apart. One foot in front of the other. Feet at 12 and 5 o'clock. Make sure your centre of mass never goes over your front foot. And be ready to retract your arm quickly if your opponent dodges. Like this." Phil demonstrated a simple punch, which Jaune did his best to imitate.

"Good. Now let's talk where to hit. On the human body, there are certain weak points which are effective on just about anyone. I don't care how many push-ups you do; your eyelids aren't getting any thicker. Ralph showed me them. The basic ones are the eyes." Phil suddenly lunged at Jaune, two fingers outstretched for his face. Jaune yelped and jerked back, going cross-eyed in the process of trying to keep Phil's fingers in view. "The throat." A knife hand now came up, striking for Jaune's Adam's apple. Jaune just about managed to get an arm in the way, blocking the attack. "Temples." A foot came flying, and Jaune ducked under it as it whistled over his head. "Solar plexus." Next came a fist aimed for his abdomen. Jaune, still recovering from the last attack took this one directly in the chest. Air exploded from his lungs as he collapsed on his back, finding himself on the floor for a second time in as many minutes. "And finally, the groin." Jaune eyes went as wide as gobstoppers as the man he'd called friend raised a malignant foot, clad in a wickedly black boot, and brought it down.

Centimetres about Jaune's manhood.

"You get the picture," grinned Phil.

"I don't agree with this method of teaching," gulped Jaune, unable to drag his eyes away from the heel still hovering menacingly over his crotch.

Phil shrugged. "Worked for me. Besides, good luck ever forgetting about the weak points I pointed out after this."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I think your teammate was a bit of a psychopath."

"Oh undoubtedly," agreed Phil, finally removing his foot from its position and allowing Jaune to breathe easily again. "But Ralph was also the best fist-fighter I know. And we don't have time for the gentle approach. So unless you want to quit…"

"No," decided Jaune. As humiliating as getting his ass handed to him repeatedly by Phil was, he knew this was a necessary evil. He needed to get better as a fighter. And Phil was right: they didn't have the luxury of time. If getting pushed around a little bit was the fastest method of training, then he'd willingly do it.

Though having said, that, judging by the crocodile grin Phil was giving him, something told Jaune he might be eating his words soon. Very soon.

"I had to spend four years doing Ralph's gruelling training. I've always wondered what it would be like to be on the other side of it…"

* * *

"Hey Nuke."

Naomi looked up from the most recent set of notes she'd written to see Cat lounging against the tent entrance, cocky grin fixed on Naomi. A small smile slipped out in response. "Hey Cat. What're you doing here?"

"Wanted to check how you were holding up. Besides, I saw Lightning whacking Jaune's arse every way to Sunday and figured you could use some company now that he's busy."

"You're too kind," smirked Naomi. "It wouldn't have anything to do with you wanting to avoid said fight with Phil?"

"What, me? Avoid a fight? Have we met yet?"

"One you might lose," pointed out Naomi.

"Against jittery Jim? Jeez, such a low opinion of me."

"You know you don't _have_ to win everything."

"I don't win _everything_ ," agreed Cat, "just the things I do," she winked.

Naomi smiled. Cat was easy to be around. Affable, even. She was like the mental sparring partner Naomi had often yearned for; always with a witty remark on the tip of her tongue.

"How are you really doing, Nuke?" Cat asked gently, and that was the other reason Naomi relished Cat's companionship so much. Some of the others found her intimidating, but Naomi knew that part of her made up the minutest slice of the woman underneath who, despite how much she might try to refute it, had a heart befit of the gentlest soul.

"I'm doing alright. Genuinely," she added at Cat's raised eyebrow. "I had a conversation with Phil earlier. He's… surprisingly good at encouragement."

"What, by lowering the bar for everyone else?" asked Cat, but her grin took the edge off her words. "Can't say I expected Lighting of all people to become the team motivator."

"What, we have occupations in this section now?"

"Of course," explained Cat. "Jaune's the leader. Terry's the professional rule-sticker. You're the explosives user…"

"And pray tell me, what does that make you?" Naomi questioned. Cat's grin was nothing short of roguish.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm the team's exemplar. The poster woman for the female specimen. The epitome of perfection."

"So many titles," noted Naomi.

"I am exceptional at multitasking," boasted Cat matter-of-factly.

"Is it ever burdensome being the best at everything?"

"The workload is tremendous. Sometimes I think I push myself too hard. Alas, being amazing is a fulltime job." Cat sighed theatrically.

Naomi laughed at the display, shaking her head. Cat smirked in return, her Heterochronic eyes shining. She hid it well, but Naomi noticed a glimmer of relief pass her face. Naomi could guess the cause: Cat had tried on multiple occasions to make Naomi laugh back when… when she hadn't been all there. Nothing had worked, and Naomi knew that Cat had been close to despairing for her from what Jaune had said. Even if it had taken a pep talk from Jaune to begin the long road to recovery, Naomi would never forget how hard Cat had tried to help her. For that single show of unconditional compassion alone, Naomi would always love Cat.

"Anything new come up over the radio?" enquired Cat, coming to sit next to her.

"I wish," groaned Naomi. "Nothing but more incoherent chatter on their end. It seems this war has ground to a stalemate. As far as I can tell, Vale's finally got its act together and is holding the line. Atlas are trying to probe for weak spots, but for now at least, they seem hesitant to commit everything in a single assault."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"What they're planning." Naomi sighed and ran a hand through her spiky blue hair, pushing it out of her left eye. That was the worst thing about their situation, she figured. That, with the exception of the stolen transmitter, they had absolutely no contact with the outside world, and no way of knowing how this war was progressing. Atlas could decide to invade Vale at any moment, but if no one bothered to broadcast that information to their area, they'd never know. Naomi hated not knowing.

After a pause, Cat asked, "What do you make of all this?"

"This?"

"This war. That we were invaded. The fact that after decades of peace, Atlas decides to attack Vale from literally fucking nowhere."

Naomi pondered the problem for a moment. There were a hundred reasons why a Kingdom might go to war, but for Atlas to do so like they had… it just didn't make sense. Vale didn't have any vital resources that Atlas needed, and even if they had, it would have been indeterminably easier to just trade for them. In such a globally connected world, war was genuinely just not as effective as other methods in getting what one wanted. What did this war achieve then, except the loss of a potential trading partner and isolation from the other Kingdoms? No doubt an unannounced invasion hadn't gone unnoticed by Mistral and Vacuo. They may even be debating taking action against Atlas, either to protect Vale or just to ensure they weren't next on Atlas's hitlist. So why do it?

"I think there's more to this war than we understand," she concluded. "I can't fathom why Atlas would want to invade, but they did, and that determines that there must have been a rationale. But if it's not for any of the conventional reasons," she went on, more talking to herself now than Cat, "then what if it's something more sinister…"

"Nuke, you're mumbling again," chided Cat, rolling her eyes. "What do you mean something more sinister?"

Naomi shrugged. "I don't know. Just a thought I had. But… it honestly seems like this war doesn't achieve anything for Atlas. All it accomplishes is a loss of life and a drain of resources for both sides. For the Kingdom, it acquires nothing. But what if it isn't meant to acquire anything for the Kingdom."

Cat sighed. "You're losing me, Nuke. Get to the point."

"What if Atlas invaded not for the benefit of the Kingdom, but for the benefit of a group? Or even an individual?"

"Why would anyone want a war?"

Naomi shrugged. "Throughout history plenty of people have benefitted from war. It's good for weapon manufacturers, industrial plants, dust suppliers."

"You think the Schnee Dust Company started this war?"

"No, that doesn't sound like them. They're greedy, yes, but not stupid. In the short term they might benefit from increased demand, but they'll have completely cut off an entire Kingdom from any imports. They'll lose almost a quarter of their customers during the war, and afterwards if people realise they were involved people might even boycott the company. It just doesn't make sense economically."

Cat threw her arms into the air. "Alright, alright, superior detective skills thoroughly proven. Just tell me who you think started this shitstorm already."

"I wonder… what if there's something in Vale that we don't know about. Something that someone wants very badly. Bad enough to go to war over."

"So they invaded Vale to capture it?"

Naomi shrugged. "Capture it. Force us to trade it in a peace deal. Take it whilst everyone else is busy killing each other… take your pick."

"Bloody hell that's… that's fucked up. You think there are people out there really willing to do all this just to get what they want?"

Naomi looked Cat dead in the eye as she said, "I _know_ that there are people like that. Monsters who wear human skin, but deep down they're more twisted than the Grimm. At least the Grimm are noticeably evil." And Cat, _shivered_.

It took Naomi a full five seconds of silence to realise why.

Cat's face was expressionless, but Naomi could read her posture like a textbook. She had locked up, her muscles going rigid in an attempt to hide some emotion. Before she could stop herself, Naomi's curiosity had her asking, "Cat, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she answered, far too quickly.

"Do you need to talk about something?"

"I'm fine," she stubbornly repeated.

"Cat, it's alright if you're afraid of the Grim—"

"I'm not afraid," she snapped.

"But—" Naomi stopped herself. Too far. Naomi was pushing too far. She could practically see Cat's fortifications slamming up behind her eyes, sealing up the tender part of her behind a fortress of ice. Cat clearly had no intention to talk about this, and Naomi had no real right to ask. Her friend was entitled to her own secrets. If Cat wasn't ready to tell her about them, then Naomi wouldn't pry.

"Alright then," she accepted, and that was that. "Tell me more about what kind of training Phil has Jaune doing." Anything to change the conversation.

Cat relaxed marginally, though she still seemed stiffer than when she'd first entered. "It's hardly training at all. Lightning's running circles around Jaune and shouting tips every now and then. Jaune looks like he's on death's door, but he's putting up an admirable attem—"

" _Come in Oscar Four, this is Command Centre Lima, do you copy, over?"_ gurgled the transmitter. Both Cat and Naomi froze.

" _Command Centre Lima, this is Oscar Four. We read you loud and clear, over."_

" _This is a priority transmission Oscar Four. Orders from the top. Black Bishop wants to inspect the troops and your platoon has been selected to perform some manoeuvres for him. This overrides all other orders. Do you copy, Oscar Four?"_

" _Roger that, Command Centre Lima, wilco."_

The next transmission had Naomi silently scrambling for her notebook.

" _Black Bishop will be transported in by airship in three days. Your platoon is to secure the landing site and surrounding area in that time, then wait for further orders. Standby for coordinates."_

Naomi made eye contact with Cat, an electric shiver of exhilaration snaking under her skin. Cat was grinning manically, and her eyes were aglow with excitement, whatever fear that had previously gripped her now indiscernible. She mouthed two words to Naomi, and Naomi, despite herself, couldn't help but agree with their sentiment.

 _Got them._

* * *

Jaune punched, jabbed, kicked, dodged, blocked, and most of all, fell his way through the next two hours of his life. By the end, his hands were leaden weights hanging from two pieces of spaghetti that were his arms. His shins and forearms barked in agony from the sheer number of blows they'd blocked. His nose throbbed from a headbutt Phil had graciously demonstrated. His toes felt puffy in his shoes from kicking. And his bum… oh god his _bum_.

Jaune was about thirty seconds from complete appendage failure when Phil finally called their 'training' to a close. Jaune gratefully grabbed a water canteen and greedily gulped down gallons of the sweet, sweet nectar of life, groaning softly to himself in satisfaction. Phil just smirked, barely even winded.

"We should get the others to join in on our training," suggested Phil. "It can only help to have more people who know how to fight in our section." And being able to watch someone other than him fall flat on their arse time and time again? Jaune nodded furiously.

But just at that moment, Naomi appeared from what had become the radio tent. She spotted Jaune and immediately made a beeline for him. The look on her face as she approached had Jaune pushing himself to his feet, ignoring his limbs as they groaned in protest at the movement. Something important had happened.

"I've got it," said Naomi when she arrived, slightly breathless. "I've got a set of coordinates for a ship."

Jaune's heart fluttered hesitantly. "Close?" A nod.

"In three days an airship carrying a VIP is going to land close enough to walk to. This is our opportunity to steal it and get home." A VIP? In a war?

"Who?"

Although Jaune had been the one to ask the question, it was Phil who Naomi looked at as she whispered, "Black Bishop." An intake of breath from Phil had Jaune looking between the two of them.

"Who?" he asked again.

"Someone senior in the Atlas military," answered Phil. "We've heard that codename mentioned several times over the radio.

"Someone _very_ senior," corrected Naomi, "considering the precautions they're taking. He's to travel with an escort of elite soldiers, and his landing area is to be firmly controlled by infantry. That's why they gave the exact coordinates: so there was no confusion where they needed to cover."

"Didn't they fear someone overhearing it?" asked Jaune.

"I think we're even further behind enemy lines than we realised. They clearly don't expect there to be anyone able to listen in except them. It's even more incredible that we haven't been caught yet." _And only a matter of time until we are_ , she didn't need to say. "Jaune, this could be our only shot of getting home. We may never get this opportunity again."

"It sounds risky as," pointed out Phil. "Maybe too risky. Taking on a guy that important… it won't be easy. That's for sure. He's bound to be surrounded 24/7. And I don't know about you guys, but I'd rather not find out who these 'elite troops' are."

"We've done nothing but take risks so far," countered Naomi. "There will never be an easy opportunity. They're not just going to give us an unguarded ship. We need to take our chances whilst we still can."

"It's up to you, Sarge. Do we go for it?"

Jaune thought about it for a long minute, weighing their chances. Both Naomi and Phil had made good arguments, but… they couldn't afford to wait any longer. They'd already been here for too long. Their supplies wouldn't last indefinitely, and it was only a matter of time before they were discovered, either by Atlas or Grimm. Jaune honestly didn't know which would be worse.

No, they had to do this, before this chance slipped between their fingers. "We go for it," he told them. "Tell everyone to break camp. I want to get moving whilst we still have daylight."

"You're the boss," said Phil, turning around to rouse the troops. Out of the corner of his eye, Jaune noticed Naomi smiling at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing, just… you sounded unnervingly leaderlike there." Jaune blushed and started stuttering, utterly ruining the image as Naomi gave a short, clear laugh. It was one of the best sounds he'd heard from her in a long time. "So, you think we can do this?"

"I'm sure we can," Jaune assured her. "Besides, how bad can this Black Bishop person really be?"

Bad, as it turned out. Very, very bad.

* * *

 **Hmmm, now who could this mysterious Black Bishop be? I have developed the perfect twist, the most unpredictable mystery ever set to Fanfiction. It's totally not mind-numbingly obvious, and I definitely don't expect you all to immediately guess who this character is.**

 **So Jaune is finally getting some training, though I somehow doubt Phil is going to be quite as gentle as Pyrrha was in the show. But hey, our protagonist needs some extra skills if he's to survive the upcoming chapters, and Phil is technically a trained Huntsman. As a writer, I decided to do this so I could make future fights more entertaining if Jaune actually knows how to fight, rather than just describing him getting beaten up by vastly superior foes or having him blunder his way to a cheesy victory.**

 **Ok, now I figured this is a good a time as any to bring it up, so I was wondering if any of you lovely readers are any good with a pencil or paintbrush and maybe had some free time on your hands. I'm just saying, currently the thumbnail of this story is a pretty generic screenshot of Jaune. If anyone was interested in drawing some fanart for this story, then I would love for you to get in touch with me via a private message or review. Even if it's just a drawing of Jaune in military combats, that would still be better than what I've currently got. There's absolutely no pressure to do this whatsoever, so please don't feel like you're obliged to help, but if you're a fan of this story and you want to make it even cooler, it would absolutely make my day to hear from you.**

 **Otherwise, I'll hopefully post the next chapter in two weeks, but like I've previously said, these next few might take a little longer than normal due to exams.**


	16. Chapter 16 - Fight

**Hey guys, sorry this chapter is a week late. I think I bit off (a lot) more than I could chew with this one, and I had my first GCSE on Wednesday. I decided to delay it by a week just so I could get the bloody thing finished. Hope it's worth the wait.**

* * *

" _The best weapon against an enemy is another enemy"_

 _Friedrich Nietzsche_

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen—Fight**

Over the next three days Jaune led Beta section closer and closer to the coordinated given over the transmitter. During the spare time they'd had (mostly during the night) Jaune and Phil had continued to train. Without enough time to work on building Jaune's raw strength and endurance, Jaune's dark-haired, red-armoured sensei/torturer had prioritised teaching him every dirty trick in the book: nerve points, natural weaknesses, some simple manoeuvres to floor or disarm an opponent. All of them graciously demonstrated by Phil (on Jaune). Jaune could only pray that if it ever came down to it, his measly training would be enough to make a difference.

The last few hours of their journey had been the most harrowing, primarily down to the realisation that they were no longer alone. They'd had to dive for cover when an Atlas patrol had come sauntering past more than once. Fortunately, the undergrowth had been thick, and visibility had been reduced to a few meters at most, allowing Beta section to avoid most encounters.

At least, it had been, until the forest had suddenly ended right as they reached their destination.

Jaune crouched among a thin line of shrubbery, watching their target zone. He'd left the majority of Beta section within the forest to reduce the risk of them being spotted, but he'd taken Naomi, Terry and Phil with him to scout the change in landscape ahead. They currently hugged the ground among the low-lying bushes and tall grasses, snatching any and all cover the sparse land would give them. The thick treeline started behind them, but the land in front was void of any and all of the precious trees Beta section so desperately needed for cover. Instead they were left with nothing but waist-high bushes and tuffs of sturdy grasses, forming a sort of savanna-like terrain.

Jaune risked raising his head to study their surroundings. They were at the top of a piece of raised land, allowing Jaune a sweeping view of rolling hills and tree cloaked valleys around him. To Jaune's right the land suddenly dipped downwards, before reappearing a little further away, a jagged gash slicing through the ground and dividing the land into two, continental slabs. A gorge. Far, far below, Jaune could hear the tinkling chiming of the river at the bottom as it flowed past, and faintly he thought he could even make out the crash and spit of a waterfall further away, the perpetrator of the gaping scar in the land as it had retreated backwards, slowly eating away at the rock behind it over a time frame that made Jaune's entire existence seem like the beat of a butterfly's wings.

On their side of the divider, set right against the drop that plummeted down into the gorge, perched a large slab of weathered stone, as if dropped by a bored god. The stone was covered in moss and lichen, and even a few sturdier plants managed to find cracks for their roots within the unforgiving rock. It was far from an ideal landing pad, but as Naomi had correctly deduced, flat enough for a medium sized airship to land on.

And utterly crawling with Atlesian soldiers.

At least six of them stationed at systematic intervals around the rock, and several more patrolling the surrounding shrub strewn area. Jaune could only guess how many more were watching from within the trees.

Jaune ducked his head back down before he could be spotted and commando crawled his way to the others. "What do you guys think?" he asked them.

Naomi took a moment to scan the landing zone, before turning back to Jaune and shaking her head. "It doesn't look favourable. They've picked the location well. We can't sneak behind them because of the relief of the land, and the odds of us sneaking up on them unnoticed is infinitesimal. That's extremely small, by the way," she clarified when Terry opened his mouth to ask.

"What's the standard military procedure in a situation like this?" Jaune asked Terry. He knew the young man had had a father in the military and had watched him read the weapon's manual first hand. If anyone knew the military the best in Beta section, it was Terry.

"Standard military procedure is to get a three-to-one man advantage before attacking," Terry deadpanned.

"And if we can't get that?"

Terry chewed his lip, the lanky lad pushing himself up to glance at their target briefly before ducking back down, his blond curtains, grown longer during their time detached from civilization, bobbing with his movements. "Then we use a distraction," he decided. "Try to draw the guards away whilst we sneak past."

"Any suggestions how we do that?" enquired Jaune. "What about your bazooka, Naomi?"

"We're trying to steal the ship, not blow it to hell."

"Maybe I can use this," suggested Phil, pulling out Aeron Wasp. The dandelion yellow, oblong weapon, with its handle on one end, muzzle on the other, and ammunition drum and hand crank enclosed within a cross in the centre still looked strangely alien to Jaune. But he recognized its value in a situation like this. For reasons that still eluded Jaune, the forearm-length weapon was somehow not only able to fly like a drone, but also fire on its own through whatever semblance Phil possessed. With something like that, Phil could direct it to attack from the front, luring the Atlesian soldiers away whilst Beta section snuck around the back. It was perfect.

"It won't work," muttered Naomi, shattering Jaune's moment of elation. "This isn't some mediocre action blockbuster; no military would be so foolish as to send an entire guarding force after a single disturbance. The best for which we could hope would be a small force to examine the disturbance whilst the rest remain behind. It's probable they'd even leave at minimum one soldier to watch their six. We won't be able to sneak past across all that open terrain."

"Back to square one," muttered Terry.

"It could still work," argued Phil, as if offended that his weapon's usefulness was being questioned. "We just need to find a way to get past the guards they leave behind."

"How? Invisibility?" countered Naomi.

"Come on, guys," Jaune intervened before they were overheard. "Let's head back to the others. We'll figure out a way there."

The group quickly crawled back to the rest of Beta section, who were waiting for them in the denser cover of the forest further back. Jaune quickly explained what they'd seen, then asked if anyone had any suggestions.

"We could always take out the guards," suggested Bounty. "If we've got the element of surprise with us, we could lay an ambush."

"There's too many of them," refuted Naomi. "We can't take down twenty at the same time without being shot. We're not Spruce Willis."

"Speak for yourself," boasted Bounty.

"Forget stealth," said Cat. "Why don't we just make a run for it the moment the airship lands?"

"Unless you want to take a backload of lead with you, that won't work," said Finn.

"Scared, Flea?" Finn pursed his lips, a retort already forming on his tongue.

Jaune noticed that Aiden wasn't contributing to the conversation. Instead, he was quietly watching the proceedings, his silver wolf tail flicking in a way that Jaune had begun to attribute to meaning Aiden was thinking. "What do you think, Aiden?" he asked quickly before Finn and Cat could bring down the forest with their squabbling.

"I think," began Aiden, "that we have neglected to consider using the gorge to our advantage." The others paused their bickering to consider what Aiden had said. Aiden continued. "From your descriptions, it seems that the Atlas soldiers consider it impassable, and have neglected to watch it. That might be the case of a large assault force, but for a small group of lightly armed troops, the gully's walls could be scaled."

"It's going to be pretty steep," pointed out Terry, "and probably also wet and slippery."

"A small group could make the climb first and find a suitable route, then lead the other group up."

"How small a group?" asked Jaune.

"Climbers tend to work in pairs," mentioned Naomi. "Any more than that and you risk extra members being more deadweight than aid. Not to mention the increased risk of detection."

"How long do we have before Black Bishop arrives?"

"A couple of hours yet," said Naomi.

Jaune considered the plan that was slowly melding itself together in his head. It could work. It relied on a lot of factors going right, but it could succeed. And to be perfectly honest, they had nothing else anyway. It was either attempting this or giving up and kissing their ticket home goodbye.

"Ok then, here's the plan: Aiden and I are going to get into the gorge and try to find a way up. The rest of you stay here and lie low. When we know it's safe, we'll come back and get the rest of you. We'll wait in position until the airship lands and whoever this Black Bishop is gets out. Then Phil, you'll cause a distraction with your weapon, and when there are fewer guards watching the airship, that's when we'll sneak on."

"And then haul ass out of the ensuing firefight," finished Cat. "Sounds stupidly dangerous and completely unfeasible. I say we do it."

Satisfied with the plan, the group split up; Aiden and Jaune following the downwardly sloping land to find a place where they could enter the gorge, and the rest slinking into the undergrowth to wait.

Aiden led Jaune away from the landing zone, walking parallel to the canyon. Eventually, the impassable rock walls of the gorge gave way to dirt slopes, which, though still steep, were low enough to scramble down without too much difficulty. Jaune went first, slipping and sliding on loose dirt and rock fragments, brining an avalanche of soil with him as he let gravity do its work. Next came Aiden, somehow much more graceful, lithely leaping from point to point in a zigzagging fashion, his keen eyes somehow picking out the sturdier bits of dirt to land on. Soon, he stood next to Jaune at the bottom of the gorge.

Jaune was about to continue into the gorge when something twanged a warning in his gut. Be it instincts, aura, a sixth sense or something else entirely, something had the presence of mind to freeze Jaune where he stood. It was only then that he realised how quiet the surroundings had become. Even the stream in the middle of the gorge seemed subdued, as if the entire forest were holding its breath.

He glanced to Aiden, only to see the wolf Faunus standing as stiff as a rod next to him, his silver tail utterly still and rigid. He'd clearly picked up on the same sense of unease Jaune had. He raised a hand to cut off the question Jaune was about to ask, then slowly inched his way forward, still as taunt as a bowstring. Jaune warily followed, wincing as his foot made a small splash in the stream.

Eventually, Aiden rounded a corner and Jaune realised what had caught both their senses. It was a cave, snaking away into the stone wall of the gorge, a gaping blackhole maliciously hiding away from the outside world. Jaune noticed a number of scratches on the rock arch of the entrance and several deep furrows gouged in the ground around the entrance, as if something very large had tried to force its way into the cave. But anything beyond the first few feet of sunlit rock was lost in shadows and mystery.

A memory surfaced to the front of Jaune's mind then about a similar cave. A very, very unpleasant memory. "Is there something in there?" he dared to whisper to Aiden.

"Yes." Jaune shivered.

"Let's move on. There's no reason to disturb… it." Aiden thankfully nodded, and soon the duo had left the yawning darkness far behind.

The further they travelled down the gorge, the deeper and wider the stream became, until the two men were wading in waist high water, their rifles held high above their heads. After half an hour of journeying down the canyon, just as Jaune began to discern the hiss and spit of the waterfall, Aiden found a narrow trail that led them out of the water and up the near vertical cliff sides.

Finally, after ten minutes of scrambling up dirt slopes and hoisting themselves onto precarious perches, Jaune and Aiden reached a slight hollow in the cliff wall just below the top where eight men could just about squeeze onto. Jaune, satisfied that they could get everyone up to this point and wait for the bullhead to land, turned to head back to the others, but he was stopped by the look on Aiden's face. He had his eyes scrunched shut and his head cocked, as if… listening. Although Aiden didn't have any extra ears, Jaune knew his hearing was unmatched in Beta section. Jaune tensed up, hand at his sword hilt, ready to leap into action if an Atlas guard was approaching. But that wasn't what Aiden was hearing.

Aiden's eyes snapped open, the red of his irises burning with worry, and Jaune felt his stomach drop out of his body as Aiden said simply, "They're in trouble."

* * *

Phil was pretty sure of one thing as he knelt on the unforgiving rock platform with his hands behind his head and surrounded by at least eight Atlas guards. Jaune was going to be pissed.

The Atlas patrol had come out of the woods, catching them unaware. Phil and the others had been so busy watching out for troops from the landing zone they hadn't thought to watch the forest behind them. Big mistake. Within seconds they'd found themselves surrounded by a wall of rifles, and utterly helpless to resist.

Not that Cat wouldn't have tried, had it not been for Finn noticing the look in her eye and hissing at her to not resist. Cat had shot a look of pure loathing Finn's way, but by then the Atlas soldiers had identified her as a problem and had levelled at least three rifles her way. With little other option, Cat had relented, dropping her weapon.

The members of Beta section had been brought towards the other guards on the landing zone, which was where they now knelt. The soldiers immediately did a pat down of each of them, removing their ammo, rat packs, equipment and whatever else they could find in their numerous pockets and dumped them all in a pile away from them. Phil almost dared to resist when they tried to take away Aeron Wasp, and only a quick demand from Finn had stopped him from getting pounded with bullets.

" _Let it go_ ," Finn hissed at him.

"Quiet!" ordered the nearest guard, levelling his rifle at Finn.

The group fell into an uneasy silence, each one realising how screwed things were looking. Finn's eyes were downcast in an attempt to make him as unnoticeable as possible. Naomi's were darting about frantically, perhaps looking for something to help them. Cat was staring daggers at anyone in white, a look that promised a long and drawn out death at her hands. Judging by the way the Atlas soldiers kept a healthy distance and at least three rifles levelled at her at all times, it was working.

Phil desperately racked his brain for something to get them out of this mess. This was bad. Really, really bad. They'd messed up the plan and were now at the mercy of the Atlesian soldiers. Why they hadn't already been killed, Phil didn't know. Were they waiting for something? Someone? Did they intend to interrogate them? Did they plan to throw them in a prisoner of war camp? Did Atlas even have POW camps?

One thing was clear: whatever they had in store for them, Phil didn't want to find out. They needed to escape. But how? Thankfully it looked like Jaune and Aiden were still free. But what could two men do, against the eight guards watching over them? How would they even know that they had been captured? They might still be in the gorge or heading back to the team's last position. He doubted they'd risk sticking their heads above to have a look, so they might not even realise the rest of Beta section had been captured. How then, to get a message to them?

"Why have you captured us?" Finn suddenly demanded loudly, raising his eyes to stare at the closest guard.

"Shut up," the guard replied.

"Why have you captured us and are now forcing us to kneel on this rock platform?" Finn asked again, even louder than the first time.

"I said, shut up, or I'll shut you up myself," the soldier threatened.

"Why have you taken us prisoners and are holding us at gunpoint?" Finn practically shouted. What the hell was Finn playing at? Did he want to annoy the people who held their existence in their hands? What kind of questions were those even?

"Oi, you little shit," snapped the guard, stalking up to the kneeling Finn. "You think you're being funny?"

Finn took a deep breath. "WHY ARE W—Ooof!" Phil gasped as a rifle butt was slammed into Finn's face, spinning the man straight to the floor. Then, for good measure, the soldier smashed a boot into Finn's stomach, doubling him over where he lay.

"Anyone else want to talk back to me?" Five baleful stares were his only response. "That's what I thought. If I hear any of you talking again, I'll put a bullet through your foot."

The man stomped back to where he'd been previously standing, and Finn was left to pick himself up unaided. The man had a large bruise forming on his cheek, his breathing seemed strained, and when he spat, the globule of saliva was stained red. But despite all that, Phil noticed for the shortest moment a triumphant smirk splayed across Finn's face, before it was wiped away and replaced with a dour, beaten look.

Now what did he have to smile about?

* * *

"Crap. Crap," hissed Jaune once Aiden had finished explaining what he had heard. Aiden could not help but agree with the sentiment. Jaune dared a peek over the top to confirm Aiden's story, and the string of curses that followed was all Aiden needed to know that Finnegan had been deadly serious in what he had shouted. And judging by the way his voice had cut off suddenly, Aiden shuddered to think what that move had cost Finnegan.

"What do we do, Sarge?" asked Aiden.

"We rescue them," he immediately decided, readying his rifle.

"I would not advise that," Aiden hastily said, realising his leader would gladly throw himself at the enemy if he thought it might save the others. "There are too many, and they have the others at gunpoint. An assault will achieve nothing but their deaths."

"Then what do we do?" Jaune demanded, his words carrying more of a bite than he probably realised. "Let them get shot when the guards get bored?"

"Of course not," said Aiden. "But let us not be rash. We need a plan."

"Like that's ever helped before," Jaune muttered.

Aiden let the bitter comment go. He realised Jaune's snappiness was stemming from his worry for the others. Aiden knew how he was feeling, he really did, but with practised ease, he forced his features into neutrality and in a steady and measured tone he said, "Do not take my caution for pacifism. We need to save them, of that we are in agreement, but we cannot help them if we get ourselves killed or captured." Jaune fell silent, deep in thought. When Aiden was confident Jaune was not about to throw himself into the line of fire, he suggested, "A diversion might draw at least some of the guards away. It might be enough to give us the edge. But if Phillip is unable to provide the one we planned, we need to find an alternative."

Jaune closed his eyes for a short while, thinking. When his eyes snapped open again, gone was the indecision, and Aiden saw that they now blazed with the fire of determination.

"Do you have an idea?"

"Yes," answered Jaune.

"Are you going to tell me?"

"You wouldn't like it if I did." Aiden had the distinct feeling that was probably true.

"Then I wish you luck, Jaune. I will stay here and watch over the others as best I can." Jaune nodded once, then eased himself off the little shelf they'd been sitting on, beginning the long descent back into the gorge.

Aiden turned away from the dizzying drop below and slid his rifle over the lip of the gorge wall, bracing his weapon on the ground above him as he sighted down the barrel to where the guards were watching his teammates. Aiden, despite the calm demeanour he had presented to Jaune, was deeply perturbed. He felt the worm of worry wriggling in his gut, and with that came a trickle of concentrated anger that he struggled to bottle up.

For Aiden's entire life he had been subjected to racism and discrimination. He had been bullied at school for it. He had been unable to keep a job because of it. Racism had had him mugged and mindlessly beaten more times than he cared to keep track of, his assaulters taking his refusal to fight back as proof that he _wanted_ more. It had been such a common part of his life that he had come to expect it everywhere he went. Worse, he had come to see himself as being the problem. As being… broken. He had to have been, if so many people hated him before they even met him.

But when he had joined the army, when he had met the people of Beta section, when they had looked at him and seen more than the wolf tail… it had changed his life. Never before had he just been instantly accepted. Not just because they were all good people, though Aiden knew that they were, but because maybe, deep down, they each knew that a part of them was broken as well, at least by society's standards. Be it Cat's stubborn defiance of everyone's expectations of her, or Terry's desperate desire to impress a father who had done nothing for him, or even Naomi's eccentric blue hair that screamed _different_ , something had pushed them to seek out one of the most dangerous occupations on Remnant.

Maybe they were all unwanted by society. But that in turn had given Aiden the closest he had ever come to a family, as fragmented and dysfunctional as that was. And now that family was being threatened. Forced to kneel and subjected to goodness knew what, and Aiden wasn't even close enough to hear what was going on unless they raised their voices.

That was why he knew he was one wrong move away from losing control over himself and killing every bastard in sight, consequences be damned. So he made a promise to himself: a small concession to retain his wits for a little longer. Aiden didn't care what reason dictated, if they tried to hurt his friends…

He'd drop them like an electrocuted gnat.

* * *

The eight remaining soldiers made Beta section kneel like that for more than half an hour. Throughout that entire time, not one explanation was given to them for why they were waiting. The guards barely even spoke at all except to occasionally tell them to pipe down if they dared to try to speak.

Phil used the time to assess their situation. Their guns had been taken away, but he had one trick up his sleeve that they didn't realise: Phil could still control his weapon. His semblance allowed him to interface with electronical devices, and he was so familiar with the circuitry of Aeron Wasp—he'd built the thing himself for heaven's sake—that he could still use it even from several meters away. If he got the chance, he might be able to shoot at the guards and escape. But only if they were distracted enough to not shoot him the moment they realised what he was doing. His aura might be able to tank a few hits, but from such a close range and with so many guards, it wouldn't last long. Plus, he couldn't risk the others getting hit in the crossfire. So for now at least, it looked like he'd be going along with whatever plan the guards had for them.

Whatever that was.

Finally, after an eon of waiting, the deep thrum of an engine began to rise in pitch. For a horrifying second, Phil was flashed back to that disastrous day when they'd first been attacked by a bullhead, but then the airship came into view and he dispelled the awful memory with a shake of his head.

This airship was not a usual bullhead like the one that Beacon used to send their students on missions, or even the passenger airships that were often used as air ambulances. No, this was a hulking beast of an airship; large, armoured and bristling with weapons. A metal bird of prey, designed for speed and attack capabilities and little thought for aesthetics. The centre was vaguely ovoid in shape with a glass cockpit at the front and black metal ridges sticking up along its spine like a dinosaur's back plates. The centre part elongated and ended in a tail not dissimilar to a whale's, where two engines sat. Two wings extended horizontally from the main cabin like the bony appendages of some nightmarish creature. Everything about the ship was sharp and cold, as if it were designed to slice through the air as it flew. Looking at it, Phil couldn't help but marvel and shudder at the calculated fear such a vehicle was designed to strike into the hearts of its enemies.

The airships hovered overhead, then began to descend on the landing zone like the fist of a judgmental god. The Atlesian soldiers hurriedly barked orders at them to move off the stone slab, and soon the metal monster had settled itself down. The cargo door screeched open, morphing itself into a ramp and giving Phil his first look at the people inside.

Or more accurately, the things inside.

Because walking down the ramp, each step taken in perfect unison, were five robots.

Phil's breath hitched in his throat slightly as he beheld their gleaming armour, blindingly white in the glare of the sun, like liquid steel/molten silver; their sharp, rigid movements, so similar to a human's, and yet so different because of it; their too spherical heads as they stared soullessly at Phil, stripping him of every defence and decency as they took him apart with their eyeless gaze right the way down to his very essence. In an instant, that inhuman visage shifted to take the form of every faceless terror Phil had ever woken in the night from in a feverish, cold sweat.

This wasn't what a robot should be. Phil could appreciate the beauty of even the simplest of machines. Of even a single wire or fuse laid by the deft fingers of a loving creator. Machines were an embodiment of their inventor's ideas, their designer's craftmanship, their engineer's skill. Machines were a culmination of hundreds of hours of time spent carefully designing, creating, and crafting, and each one carried a piece of their makers.

But these… these had been born with the sole intention to kill. To take human life when it was ordered of them. These weren't beautiful or stunning or awe-inspiring. These weren't a marvel of human persistence and ingenuity. These weren't even machines.

These were Death in shining armour.

'Elite troops' indeed.

"Now what," said a voice as rich as velvet, "do we have here?" Phil finally dragged his eyes away from the robots and onto one of only two humans from the ship.

It was a man, smartly dressed – far too smartly for a warzone Phil thought – with unblemished grey trousers and a suit jacket, an expensive-looking maroon waistcoat, a yellow shirt, and a tie. On his hands were fingerless brown gloves and on his feet were polished brown loafers, entirely out of place in the field. His hair, neatly trimmed and with a certain elegance about it, was a grey-black colour. His expertly maintained moustache was the picture of pristine perfection; a prized possession put on display for the whole world to praise.

The façade did little to hide his cruel, envy-green eyes, Phil noted.

"We caught them sniffing around nearby," explained one of the guards. "We figured you'd want to ask them a few questions, General Watts."

Wait, a general? Phil's eyes widened as realisation dawned, and he whispered, almost inaudibly, "Black Bishop." Not inaudibly enough, apparently, because immediately General Watts' head snapped to Phil and his eyes narrowed down to pinpricks of suspicion.

Oh crud.

Unhurriedly, General Watts approached Phil, and all the while Phil struggled not to squirm under that gaze. Eventually he reached him and, still looking down at Phil, reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder.

If Phil had expected the hand on his shoulder to feel putrid and repulsive, he was sorely mistaken. Instead it felt… comfortable. Relaxing. It almost felt as if that hand was calming his racing heartbeat and soothing his tense muscles. Like it was sending anaesthetic through his veins.

"How did you know my codename?" he asked. Not demanded, just asked, as if genuinely curious of the answer. It was such a simple question. So harmless. So meaningless. Phil could almost feel a little part of him tugging on his emotions. Telling him to trust. To answer. To not resist. It would be so easy to tell the man everything he asked. And why not? What bad could come of it?

"I intercepted an Atlas transmission," Phil was half surprised to hear himself say, "and heard it there."

"Is that also how you knew about this place?" Again, such a simple question, and so pleasantly asked.

That little presence tugged a little harder, and almost unintentionally the answer slipped out. "Yes."

"Intriguing," replied General Watts, at last removing the hand and warming presence from Phil's shoulder. It was only once he'd done that that Phil suddenly became aware of the glares he was receiving from the others.

"You have a military breach," rumbled Watts' companion, his voice resembling that of a grizzly bear. Phil studied the dark-skinned giant for the first time, noticing his grey-green jacket rolled up at the sleeves to reveal hairy arms as thick as tree trunks, the thick, practical boots and the black-bearded, chiselled face of a man all too familiar with violence. From the man's position just behind and to the right of Watts, as well as the way his brown eyes scanned the surroundings as if constantly on the lookout for threats, Phil guessed this man was the General's bodyguard.

"Yes, I can see that, thank you Hazel," snapped Watts. He turned to stare critically at one of the soldiers.

"My apologies, sir. I'll make sure it's patched."

"Ensure that you do, soldier," replied Watts. "Or next time I may not be so forgiving." Then he turned back to Beta section. "Tell me: which one of you is in charge of this section?" Phil clamped his mouth shut. He wasn't about to let slip that Jaune was still out there. Not when he might be their only chance of escape. Not when it would mean betraying his friend. Around him, his could see his squad mates sealing their lips as well.

"No one?" asked Watts. When no one answered, he sighed theatrically. "How very disappointing." He began pacing along the line of kneeling soldiers. "Why must you insist on being obstinate? Can you not see that I am a reasonable man? I wish only to talk to your commanding officer. Where is he?" Still he was met with only silence. His gaze darkened dangerously. "I am running out of patience. Surely you can see that talking to me is the best course of action you can take. I will not ask this again. Where. Is. Your. CO?"

A beat passed in silence. Then, "I'm the i/c," said Terry, pronouncing the acronym of in command as 'I see'. Phil just about managed to not gasp, but he couldn't stop himself from stealing a furtive glance at Terry in shock.

The general lowered himself so that he was eye-level with Terry. His green eyes gave a critical assessment as they took in Terry's gangly limbs, his narrow stature and his greasy blond curtains. His voice was dismissive as he declared, "You are not the CO. You are nothing but a private."

"Our original sergeant was killed, along with the only corporal," Terry replied stiffly. "There was no one else but me to take charge."

Watts stared deep into Terry's eyes, and somehow, Terry held his disconcerting gaze. Then, without warning, Watts grabbed Terry's shoulder, yanking him forward. Terry gasped, his eyes going as wide as cogs, as if cold water had been thrown over his head.

"Where is your sergeant?" demanded Watts, his voice as calm as Death itself.

"Dead," whispered Terry immediately, his face frozen in that state of shock.

"Then who leads you?"

Terry opened his mouth, then clenched it shut. His face contorted into a mask of agony, and he suddenly developed a twitch. His body began writhing, as if he were fighting for control of himself. He clenched his eyes shut, then flung them wide open, panting like a rabid animal.

"What are you doing to him?!" demanded Cat, only to get a rifle butt slammed into her face for her troubles.

"Who leads you," Watts interrogated Terry again.

"Me," he gasped.

"You are lying," hissed Watts, anger flashing through his calm façade. "Tell me who leads you!"

"M…me," Terry gritted out, his body jerking again, as if resisting his lies.

"Fine then!" spat Watts, stepping back. Terry's spasms at last ceased, and he slump over his knees, as if all the energy had been drained from him in an effort to resist whatever Watts had done to him. Watts took a moment to compose himself, losing that flush of frustration from his face and regaining his mask of calm superiority. "If you will not tell me who leads you, then I have no use for you. Perhaps your friends will be more compliant when they see what happens to those who resist me. Shoot him," he ordered.

Immediately the closest robot raised its weapons, swinging it around to point at Terry. Naomi gasped. Cat swore.

Phil acted.

It was now or never. He activated his semblance, throwing out his mind—

—and jumped into the Machine.

But not to his weapon.

Into the Atlesian robot.

Phillip was in two places at once. He was there in the Macro, kneeling on the unyielding ground, watching the rifle that would end his friend swing around, seemingly in slow motion. But he was also here in the Machine, inside the mess of crisscrossing connections and circuits that made up the Atlesian robot's motherboard. He was both the human man, and… something else. Something not even he fully understood. He was in the digital; he _was_ digital. And yet, not. His brain compensated for his analogue mind, transforming the ones and zeros that would have been meaningless to a normal person into something he could comprehend. Something he could interact with. Phil didn't quite know what he was.

But he didn't need to in order to achieve his goal.

He moved, jumping down metal alleyways and squirming through copper tunnels, leaving only a string of his consciousness tying him to his body as he devoted the majority of his mind to his task. He slipped past gates and skipped over transistors as he searched for the core, feeling the thrill of being in the machine course through him like a drug. This was what he was meant to do. Not just tinker with bits of broken hardware, but actually interact with the software, with the code underneath. This was what he loved.

He stumbled briefly, catching himself as he found his first firewall. A measly thing for a robot so advanced. He smashed through it with barely a pause, waiting for—there—the trickle of code sent to warn the CU, the control unit, of the invader. Phil squashed it, excitement coursing through him as he tracked where it had been heading. He followed the new route towards the core, weaving through the intricate circuitry so lovingly placed by an Atlesian engineer.

Close. He was close to the CPU—the central processing unit. That little rectangle of silicon: the heart of the robot. If Phil could get into that, he could hijack the bot, reprogramming it to his wil—

He mentally cursed, backtracking as he raced to silence the secret alarm he'd unintentionally set off. It had been hidden well. Very well. He only just caught up to it and smashed it into oblivion before it got any further. But then—another! The alarm was setting off multiple copies of its silent message, each racing down the circuitry in different directions. Phil pounced on those he could, but there were too many, a chain reaction exploding throughout the machine. Phil temporarily reeled, suddenly finding himself in very deep water.

And then he felt _It_ , and the water just got deeper.

Another.

A presence Phil had rarely felt before thrummed through the machine, the very copper tracers seeming to hum in response to its appearance. Its coding was more complex than anything Phil had ever seen before: a latticework of billions—trillions of ones and zeros built up and up and up into a monstrous beast, impossibly fast and unbeatably intelligent, able to outperform the human mind in just about every task set to it. The pinnacle of human creation, so advanced it befuddled even its own creators. An AI.

Somewhere, tied to that impossibly thin string of consciousness, Phillip smiled.

A worthy opponent.

It sensed Phil the same time he sensed it, and they both moved. The AI instantly set about trying to destroy him, roaring down on Phil whilst simultaneously releasing a stream of feelers: a net intended to catch him like a drowning rat.

Phil lunged aside and slipped through its crackling trap, slick as an eel. He instantly moved to block the AI, cutting off its potential pursuit, but the thing simply bypassed Phil's walls. They moved again, each one trying to out manoeuvre the other as they dropped firewall after firewall in the other's path.

Phil had no idea what would happen if it caught him here. If it tore his mind apart, one line of code at a time. Would it be painful? Would it take long? Would his broken mind be snapped back to his body when it was done, or would Phillip Blitz die in the machine? He didn't care to find out.

He sent out a burst of charge one way with the same electromagnetic signature as him, then turned the other. The AI spent a full nanosecond at the crossroads before simply splitting itself down both routes. Phil turned again, snapping a block behind him, then diverted an attack to flank the AI, but the thing simply slipped away yet again. Now it was the AI's turn to attack, sending a surge of electricity that had Phil diving away, almost straight into the jaws of the other copy of the AI. How had it finished with his projectile so fast? Phil barely managed to wriggle free, but he knew the AI—now recombined and fully operational—would be after him. He had to do something. Fast.

By all rights the AI should have trapped him by now. It had the home advantage, had schematics of every crook and cranny of circuitry where it could corner and capture Phil. If that happened, he knew it was game over. What's more, it was fast. Really fast. But then again, in this form, so was Phil. And even though he'd never been in this particular android before, he'd spent a lifetime sneaking into electronic places he shouldn't be. He knew the best ways to dodge a trap, the fastest method to get through a fire wall, the way AI like this one thought and acted. He knew every dirty trick and unfair advantage that there was in the Machine. And he had one crucial advantage that his adversary would never have.

He was human.

And he didn't play by the rules.

He moved, faster and faster, leading his enemy on a merry goose chase as he searched for what he was looking for. He ducked left and right, weaving back and forth as he fought to stay ahead of his pursuer. There had to be one somewhere. There had to, there had to, there ha—

There! He spun, soaring past the bulk that was the AI by a nanometre, leading his unwitting prey down his intended route.

He could hear the system behind him, practically feel its excitement as it hunted him down. It knew where Phil was leading it. It thought it had him trapped.

It thought wrong.

Phil reached the end of the wire, the AI snapping at his heels with flicks of electricity. He reached the port—

—and jumped out of the Machine.

In an instant he was back in his body, back in the Macro, little more than a second having passed in real time. The robot's rifle finally swung around fully and locked onto Terry.

The next moment he had jumped again, back into the Machine.

Behind the AI.

It had paused for less than a second, confused by the move that shouldn't have been possible for lines of code. Practically no time at all for a human. Not so for Phil.

He instantly threw up a block, cutting off the AI in the trap it had willingly walked into. The thing did the closest thing a string of electricity could do to a shriek and threw itself at his wall, but Phil threw himself back at it equally hard, sealing the cracks in it as fast as they appeared. At the same time, he fed worms through his defence, coding them with basic instructions to destroy and kill. The AI tore them apart immediately, but Phil was persistent, sending more and more through holes he allowed to exist momentarily in his barricade before closing them up again. One finally got through to the AI, taking a bite out of its code before dissolving into nothing. An insubstantial attack, barely a bother to the matrix that was his enemy. But then another followed it. And another. And another. And soon a continuous stream of Phil's creations was poking, tearing, slicing into the AI bit by bit. With nowhere to go, the AI was slowly blasted apart under the hailstorm of tiny worms eating away at it. Before long, it was nothing but a shredded pile of corrupted data, and Phil stood victorious.

Phil smiled as best as a line of code could. His plan had worked. For reasons that he still couldn't figure out, he could only leave the Machine through an access point: a USB port, an antenna, even a charging socket—as if he needed something to reassemble his analogue mind on the way out. Almost all electrical appliances had at least a few, and the more complicated the device, the more they tended to have. This robot must have had something able to receive signals from another location—maybe an airship—to allow Atlas to control it remotely if necessary. It was this connection to the external world, the Macro, as Phil called it, which allowed Phil to get away from the AI.

Finally satisfied, Phil turned his attention away from his fallen foe and back to his initial target: the CPU. It was time to take control of this robot.

* * *

The robot froze. Simply stopped moving as Phil counteracted the order to kill Terry. Watts frowned. "Shoot him," he repeated, pointing to the terrified young man, currently whimpering to himself. Still the robot didn't move.

Phil gritted his teeth. He'd taken control of one robot, but even that might not be enough. Not when there were seven other robots who he didn't have the skill to take control of at the same time. Not when there were still the eight human guards watching over them as well. He needed something else. Something to turn the tide. Something like—

A screech tore through the scene, shattering the temporary serenity. Phil felt his blood turn to ice in his veins at the sound. Watts paused, turning to assess the new threat. For a surreal moment, there was nothing but silence as everyone stared into the darkened undergrowth with bated breath.

Slowly, Phil took his hand off the back of his head. When no one yelled at him to put it back, he lowered it to the ground. Through his open palm he could feel a slight thumping resonating through the earth. Like some distant pounding of the ground was occurring. Or like sounding big was walking on it. No, not walking.

Running.

" _Something,"_ Phil decided, _"like that."_

Then all hell broke loose.

With a shriek straight from the pits of hell, an enormous Death Stalker tore its way out of the forest, several tonnes of unchecked death scuttling across the shrub-littered ground. Phil had an instant to take in its two, monstrous pincers, its hideous mandibles clicking away, as if it were laughing in murderous delight, its ten beady eyes burning a baleful red as they tracked a lone human sprinting straight towards them. A lone, _blond_ human.

Jaune.

Somehow, for whatever maddening, insane, suicidal plan, Jaune was luring a _Death Stalker_ to their location.

Talk about desperate measures.

Watts took one look at the gargantuan Grimm bearing down on them and made a snap decision. Correctly assessing the oversized arachnid as the biggest threat, he barked a set of orders to his men, sending all the humans scurrying off to engage the Grimm before it reached them. It was a wise move tactically; if they were all in the same location when the tank hit, its sheer weight alone would crush anything unfortunate enough to be in its path. Spreading out would not only distract it but would allow multiple points of attack on the creature.

Unfortunately for Watts, that left just five robots, plus him and Hazel to guard Beta section. And whilst that may have normally been more than enough to look after six unarmed, kneeling people, three things prevented that from being the case. One; Watts had just tried to kill one of them, proving that they had nothing to lose. Two; they'd just seen their sergeant, their friend, now ducking and weaving to avoid getting impaled by a massive stinger, get chased for goodness knew how long by a giant scorpion to buy them a chance. They weren't going to waste it. And three; Phil had just acquired a new toy robot.

Phil threw one last furtive glance at the others. His eyes locked onto Cat's, and the determination in them—the sheer _fire_ —had something equally hot spark inside of him. Cat nodded once, and Phil knew it was time.

Apparently, Hazel realised this too.

"Watts, look ou—" He didn't get the chance to finish.

 _Four_.

Phil's robot suddenly snapped into action, spinning its weapon on its allies. Two shots rang out before anyone had even moved, and two robots fell with smoking holes burnt through their faces.

 _Two_.

Phil wasn't so lucky with the third one. Before its companions' bodies had even hit the ground, it had correctly assessed the new threat and swung its weapon around. Phil just managed to spin his own robot's head to the side, reducing what should have been an instant kill to a glancing blow as the glowing hot bullet skimmed past the curved robot's faceplate. The force was still enough to spin Phil's android to the ground, and for a moment, Phil just sat there, dumbfounded at the speed the enemy robot had reacted with. It raised its weapon to finish off the kill, but just as it aimed something black haired and possessing the ferocity of a mountain cat launched itself at its chest and threw it off its feet. Cat and the robot went rolling across the ground, losing themselves in the shrubbery.

"Cat!" screamed Naomi, leaping after the clawing, seething tangle that were Cat and the robot.

 _One_.

The last robot raised its weapon. Phil was too far away to reach it. Terry, Bounty and Finn still hadn't moved. Phil's own robot was still recovering from its hit. Phil watched the android point its weapon at the unprotected Terry…

And watched its hand erupt.

The robot's weapon went flying, along with half its arm, both clattering across the ground away from the android. The thing stared at its jagged stump, broken wires spitting sparks. So did Beta section, equally surprised.

A second shot rang out, and the robot flipped onto its back, its head flying off from its severed neck.

 _Zero_.

Phil was graced with a single moment of stunned awe at their miraculous save, blissfully uninterrupted. Then pain erupted across the side of his face and he went flying. Stars exploded around him as he suddenly found himself chewing grass. Instincts, drilled into him for endless hours with Ralph, had him rolling away even before his vision had stopped spinning, saving him from the receiving end of a brutal stomp. He rose into a crouch and came face to face with the enraged Watts, his calm demeanour shattered as he stared at Phil with unbridled hatred.

"You did this," he seethed, whether because he'd correctly connected Phil's suspicious behaviour to what had happened to his robot or simply because Phil was a member of the section that had destroyed his elite troops, Phil couldn't tell. "I will kill you!"

Phil raised his arms, tensing for a fight, every inch of the other man's face giving absolute credence to his threat. But before he could find out just how the smartly dressed man intended to carry out his promise, a hairy hand clamped down on Watts' shoulder, jerking him backwards. An instant later a bullet slammed past, missing Watts by inches.

"We need to go," growled the bear of a man, Hazel, as he dragged Watts down lower to the ground so they'd be harder to hit. "They have a sniper."

"Not before I kill them," spat Watts.

"This is not our mission," replied Hazel. "We do not need to fight them."

"No, but I want to," snapped Watts, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Let go. I can kill this soldier."

"My instructions from her were to keep you safe. We have more important things than satisfying your bloodlust. Besides, that's no soldier." Phil felt a shiver of fear as Hazel somehow guessed, "That's a Huntsman."

"I don't care," snapped Watts. "I will—"

"No," growled Hazel, his voice like a rasp of steel. "I'm not taking the risk. Not when he poses no threat to us yet." His eyes snapped to Phil's, and Phil realised that it wasn't mercy that had Hazel holding back Watts but cold practicality as he said, "Do not make me have to put you down."

"Wasn't planning on it," Phil managed to get out through teeth that wanted to chatter and quake in fear.

"Good." Hazel's hand was like iron as he dragged Watts back step by step, keeping a wary eye on Phil, Terry, Bounty and Finn as he retreated towards their soldiers, barely straining to keep the slighter man firmly in his grasp despite his struggling. Cat and Naomi soon re-emerged and joined the others in watching Watts and Hazel retreat, Cat now boasting a split lip but still managing to stare down their adversaries with a gaze that was both defiant and triumphant.

Another shot split the air, landing directly between Phil and Hazel, the message clear as daylight: don't come closer. Hazel nodded at this, and suddenly hauled Watts over his gargantuan shoulder and broke for their soldiers. Watts initially resisted, but when it became evident he wasn't going to be put down, he changed tactics, bellowing to his soldiers to kill the prisoners. The first soldier finally turned away from the Death Stalker, spotting Phil and the others.

"Errr, time to move guys," said Naomi as the first tracer of dust sliced in their direction. "Get to the airship!" To Phil at that moment, that sounded like the best idea he'd ever heard. Summoning his damaged robot from the heap where it lay, Phil gave one final order to it as he began sprinting towards the ship. Protect them. He just hoped it would be enough.

* * *

Jaune sidestepped another stinger attack and leapt back as a claw sliced at him. He stumbled backwards, gasping down gulps of air as the massive Grimm mercifully turned to engage a different target. Jaune's legs shook precariously. His breathing tore its ragged way out of his chest in great heaves. His fingers had gripped his weapon so tightly and for so long he doubted he'd be able to peel them off even if he tried. He was exhausted. Shattered. Running on pure adrenaline alone. He'd never been the fittest, of that he'd freely admit, but after having just run all the way from the Grimm's cave back here with the Death Stalker hot on his tail he was fit to collapse. Worse, when he'd reached the shrub covered ground near the landing zone he'd been forced to slow down or risk tripping over a low-lying bush. The giant scorpion had had no such problems and had actually sped up now that it didn't have to smash its way through any trees. Jaune had had no option but to turn and face it, or risk being trampled as it inevitably overtook him.

His only comfort was that his plan had partially worked. Bringing the giant Grimm had successfully drawn at least most of the guards away to deal with it, but there were still some guarding his friends, and Jaune couldn't risk bringing the scorpion any closer to his unarmed section.

The Grimm turned again, spotted him, and scurried over to attack. Jaune wearily rallied his strength once more, barely able to even raise his shield. The soldiers had done their best to weaken the beast; at least three of its eight legs had been knocked out and it had more scorch marks on its body than Jaune could count. But the thing was armoured like a bullhead, its thick carapace armour easily absorbing the shots, and only a handful finding their way through the cracks between its plates.

The scorpion scuttled closer. Jaune braced himself for the impact, knowing he couldn't keep this up for much longer.

"Kill them! Kill them all now!"

Jaune's head snapped up from his foe long enough to see a man build like a tree trunk carrying another, well-dressed man over his shoulder. The neater man was screaming orders at the soldiers and waving frantically behind him. Jaune followed his gaze and spotted his friends, now free, sprinting towards the airship even as bullets began to whizz in their direction. Jaune felt a moment of elation at the realisation that they were getting out of there. All Jaune had to do now was meet them on the airship and they'd be on the home run. Except for one problem.

There was still a Death Stalker in the way.

And it was coming right for him.

The Grimm closed the distance horrifyingly fast. In an instant it was upon him. Jaune couldn't go around it with those colossal snapping pincers, nor could he go over the clicking mandibles. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He went under it.

Taking a short run up, he slid to the ground just as the creature reached him, his momentum taking him under the oversized insect. He finally came to a stop and immediately threw himself into a frantic crawl for the back of the Grimm. The thing shrieked in frustration at having missed its prey, then attempted to back up to continue its harassment of Jaune. Jaune crawled even faster, desperately attempting to reach the ray of light at the back of the scorpion.

The thing hissed, then the roof above Jaune shuddered and began to descend. It was going to crush him! In desperation, Jaune buried the pommel of his sword into the ground just as the scorpion's belly reached the blade. Crocea Mors slid off the armoured carapace with a _shrink_ , but then found a gap between its plates. The monster's own weight was all it took to skewer the damn thing. It screeched in pain, lifting its body and causing Jaune's sword to fall out. Jaune snatched it up in an instant, ignoring the slick blackish-red Grimm blood that coated it. He took his chance whilst the Grimm was still screaming in pain to drag himself the last few meters to the back of the scorpion, pulling himself out below its tail.

What followed next was the maddest dash for freedom Jaune had ever taken. His lungs blazed inside his chest. His feet slapped against the ground in an uneven rhythm. His knees shuddered and came close to buckling as he stumbled his way towards salvation. At any moment he expected to hear the screeching Grimm give chase, but down to whatever lucky stars that watched over him the Grimm seemed to have lost track of him.

Then the shots started, and Jaune could have sworn those stars were laughing at him.

He pounded closer to the airship as bullets skimmed past, dirt and grass giving way to hard stone under his tired feet as he reached the edge of the landing zone and tore across it. He spotted Cat and Bounty crouching just inside the ship, guarding the ramp as they desperately watched Jaune sprint closer, unable to do anything but will him speed; they didn't even have their rifles. Behind them Jaune spotted a gleaming white… was that a robot? Jaune's heart almost stopped dead when he saw it, but then he noticed that it wasn't attacking Cat or Bounty. In fact, it seemed to take no interest in them at all as it raised its rifle and fired behind Jaune at its own allies. Jaune was too busy struggling to not collapse to figure it out now. He'd just take whatever break the universe was willing to throw his way.

Jaune closed the gap. Shots slammed into the ground by his feet, scorching the rock. _Closer. Closer._ Cat held out her arm, as if pulling Jaune towards safety. _Closer. Closer._ A shot rammed into Jaune's back, shattering his pace. He went down on one knee, feeling his aura splintering and cracking around him. _So close._ He ground his teeth together, scouring his empty tank for just one more burst of strength. He dragged himself back onto two dead feet, his vision swimming with exhaustion, begging his body to give him _more_. He saw the beckoning ramp ahead and knew that he wanted to be there. He had to be there. If not for the clattering, banging rifles behind him, then for the people in front. His squad. His friends. He poured everything he possessed into his legs, praying to whoever was listening for strength, and moved, launching himself through the open ramp and straight into Cat's open arms. _There_.

Distantly, he noticed Cat dragging him away from the opening in the airship, shouting something deeper into the ship. Jaune's mind was as sluggish as his body, but he still had the frame of mind of ask, "Where are the others?"

"Naomi and Terry are in the cockpit helping Phil get this thing started," she answered, patting Jaune down for injuries. When she found none her face burst into a grin. "Damn nice thing, this aura."

"It's out," mumbled Jaune, feeling for that familiar well of power inside of him and finding nothing. He must have lost more than he'd realised fighting the Death Stalker. Its absence was like having a warm and protective cloak stripped away on a cold day, and now he felt naked and bare.

Cat nodded solemnly. "No more catching bullets, eh?" she tried to quip. Jaune was too tired to reply. He noticed Cat glance back to the open, and Jaune blearily turned his head to follow her gaze.

"Why isn't the ramp closed," he started, realising Bounty and the robot were still crouched by the opening, ducking back whenever a shot pinged off the metal ramp. Cat winced, and when she turned back to him her eyes were filled with poorly-concealed worry. And that's when Jaune realised Cat had only accounted for five members of his section. "Where's Finn and Aiden?"

"We don't know," admitted Cat. "Flea decided to run off looking for Aiden instead of sticking with us. We're trying to wait for them."

"We have to go after them," cried Jaune, trying to sit up, only to almost blackout when he did.

"Woah, you're not going anywhere, Superman. You said it yourself, you're out of aura. You'll just get yourself killed."

"They'll die out there," he mumbled, feeling so, so tired. Cat's creased brow told him that she knew that.

"They're advancing!" bellowed Bounty, cringing back as a shot made it through the opening and sizzled into the floor by his foot. Jaune turned his head from where he lay on the ground to look through the ramp, and to his horror he noticed the Death Stalker curled on its side, slowly fading into nothing. With the Grimm at last dead, the Atlesian soldiers were now hopscotching their way towards the airship, the rate of fire pouring towards them increasing exponentially. Before long they'd be upon them, and it'd be too late to flee.

As if reading Jaune's thoughts, the ground under him suddenly trembled and shuddered, a slumbering beast awakening at last. With a shock he realised the airship's engines had turned on and were now building in pitch. Jaune heard a whoop of celebration from Phil in what he assumed was the cockpit.

"Not yet!" he tried to shout. "We can't leave ye—"

"There!" yelled Bounty, pointing outside. Jaune followed his finger to see Aiden and Finn come crashing into view, dodging and weaving towards the airship. Aiden, the wolf Faunus the nimbler one of the two men, was racing ahead, whilst Finn struggled to keep up the desperate pace. Jaune's heart went out to them, willing them onwards, closer and closer to safety.

Some of the Atlas soldiers had seen the two men make their mad break and were racing towards them in an attempt to cut them off. Their own robot fired at them in return but could do little against the rapidly increasing tide of white-clad soldiers. Their window of escape wouldn't be open for much longer.

Aiden at last reached the ramp, leaping aboard. Finn had fallen behind, but he put one last burst of strength in—

And tripped.

His foot hit an awkward patch of the ground, twisting under him in a way Jaune knew it shouldn't. Jaune could only cry out as Finn went down, utterly helpless. Aiden tried to drag himself to his feet, but he was as exhausted as Jaune. The airship juddered and moved several feet away from Finn, the open ramp screeching against rock as it pulled away. Cat screamed at the cockpit to wait. And Bounty—

"Cover me," he yelled, leaping from the safety of the airship and scrambling towards Finn. Aiden and the robot, the only ones with weapons, emptied their clips at the enemy soldiers. Jaune watched as Bounty reached Finn and in one swift movement hoisted the dark-skinned man over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. The bearded man grunted with the added weight but charged back towards the airship. Bullets came shooting by, impossibly close, but the hunched form of Bounty didn't slow a tad as he barrelled towards salvation.

The ship moved again, and Terry's head poked out of the cockpit. "We can't wait any longer!" he cried. "We need to go!"

"We're not leaving," commanded Jaune.

"Sarge, we might not—"

"We're not leaving!" he yelled, silencing Terry. He turned back to watch Bounty struggle the further distance, his face turning scarlet as he huffed and puffed his way closer. Ten meters. Five meters. Two meters.

On!

"Go! Go! Go!" Jaune bellowed. Cat fell onto the ramp lever, sealing the swarm of enemies outside. The ship lurched forwards, a dog finally free of its leash.

"Hold on!" yelled Phil from up front. No, not a dog, Jaune realised. A dragon. The ship rocketed forward, knocking everyone standing off their feet. The hail of bullets slamming into the back of the ship slowly petered out, until the only sounds in the dim interior of the ship were the harsh wheezing of fatigued soldiers and the whirr of the engines.

"Did… did we escape?" asked Terry. A wild laugh bubbled up from Jaune's chest. Then another. Then some more. And soon Jaune was beside himself in mirth, the bursting of the tension that had suffocated his body too much to contain.

"I think… I think…" Jaune gasped between chuckles, "I think we did."

Jaune watched as the realisation that they'd done it—really, actually done it—hit each member of his squad. Watched as their eyes lit up in delight and their faces morphed into mad, uncontrolled grins.

"What took you so long?" Cat huffed at Aiden, trying and failing to sound stern as she scanned him for injuries like she'd done for Jaune. Aiden just gave her a sheepish look, then held up the small device Jaune hadn't noticed in the previous rush. It was long, thin, and distinctly yellow.

"I thought Phil would want this to be saved," answered Aiden as he held up Aeron Wasp.

Jaune's ensuing laugh rang loud and clear throughout the entire airship. And for a glorious, unspoilt moment, Jaune really thought everything would be alright from then on.

He was to be proven wrong even before the end of the flight.

* * *

 **Man, I just cannot leave Jaune on a good note, can I? The universe always has to rain on his parade just as he's feeling good about himself. But at least he's in the clear from Watts for now. Speaking of... haha! No one saw my twist coming! No one could have possibly predicted that Watts would show up! No one—**

 **Ok, yeah, you probably all guessed Black Bishop would be Watts. Salem and her cronies love their chess metaphors, and if you remember, General Ironwood's code name in Watts' text at the end of chapter 4 was White Bishop. It's just like Watts, egotistical maniac that he is, to consider himself equal and opposite to one of the most influential men on Remnant.**

 **On a more serious note,** **sorry if this chapter feels a little rushed (because it was). I normally use the first week to write a chapter, then the second one to proofread, rewrite it, tie it together better etc. For this one I was literally finishing the ending, rewriting the beginning, and connecting the middle in that order just yesterday. Also I gave up trying to write to a set amount of words after the first week, hence why this is such a stupendously long chapter, which is also partially why it took so long. If the chapter suffered because of it, then I'm sorry, and** **I'll try to stick to a better schedule for next time. Until then, stay awesome everybody!**


	17. Chapter 17 - Flight

**What's this? An early chapter for once? Is Doltish Dust finally about to stop complaining every chapter about how busy he is with relatively minor revision and just get on with what should be an easy task of writing a dozen pages every week?**

 **Not a chance, just had this one ready and felt bad about last chapter being late. Don't get used to it.**

* * *

" _We must be careful not to assign this deliverance the attributes of victory. Wars are not won by evacuations"_

 _Winston Churchill_

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen—Flight**

Finn couldn't quite believe they'd actually escaped. That they'd actually been able to outwit a general of Atlas, defeat his guard of robot soldiers, steal his ship and haul ass off into the sunset, or some equally sappy shit like that. He still half expected at any moment some disaster to slam into them and slap their smug grins off their cocky faces: the engines of the airship to fail, an enemy ship to shoot them out of the sky, a bolt of omnipotent lighting to strike them, confirming once and for all that whatever gods existed out there had a sick sense of humour and a particular delight in torturing Beta section specifically.

But nothing did happen, and for that Finn wasn't quite sure how to feel; to be too relieved would only beg the fates to spit on their triumph.

He was sitting with his back against a wall in the main hold of the airship, the ramp to the outside world just a few meters away from him. Warily he eyed up the Atlesian robot Lightning Phil had hijacked, currently standing motionless by the door. Even though Lighting assured them he had complete control over it, Finn couldn't help but shudder at that faceless helmet and too-still body. It gave him the creeps.

He turned away from it and did his best to ignore it, massaging his aching ankle instead. Not broken, fortunately, as Naomi had discerned, but it still throbbed dully from when he'd tripped over it in the mad rush back to the bullhead. He would have died—thought he was dead for a moment, abandoned and left to rot at the hands of the Atlesian soldiers—had it not been for… Bounty.

Finn swivelled his head to watch the bearded, slightly porky figure of Bounty, who was sitting a little way away. For the longest time Finn had been sure Bounty hated him for what he'd done in the first ambush: running away to try to save himself. The man had as good as confirmed it when he'd buried a fist into Finn's stomach when they'd next met. Finn rubbed the phantom pain away, the memory of it all too prevalent.

Then, on top of that, he'd insulted Finn's wife after they'd taken on the Atlas outpost. Finn still felt his blood heating when he thought back to what Bounty had said about Jasmine, and no poorly given apology later could have fixed that. But still…

The man had risked life and limb to save him, going back into the line of fire to pick him up after he'd fallen and carry him back to the airship. That action: going back into the Ursa's lair… it had been brave. Stupid, reckless and foolhardy. But brave.

Finn didn't know what to make of that.

"How is your ankle?"

Finn leapt a full foot into the air. "Holy fucking hell, Aiden, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Ah, my apologies, Finnegan," said the wolf Faunus, looking ironically sheepish. "I sometimes forget how quiet I can be. I did not mean to frighten you."

"It's fine," muttered Finn. "The ankle's fine as well. It just got twisted, not broken."

"That is a relief."

"Thanks for helping us back there," Finn said after a pause. "With your sniping and all."

"It was no problem. I feel that it is I that should be thanking you. If you hadn't shouted that you had been captured, Jaune and I may never have known that you were in trouble."

"Faunus hearing, huh?" joked Finn, recalling their previous conversation where Aiden had admitted to often eavesdropping on conversations he shouldn't be.

"Indeed," smiled Aiden. "That was quick thinking. Not to mention exceptionally brave."

Finn took the compliment with a nod but didn't say anything. He hadn't intended to be brave, he'd just been doing whatever was necessary to survive. Bravery was for bold fools who wanted to rush face first into their graves. Finn was more than happy to leave that death wish of an emotion to someone else. Besides, his idea had been born out of desperation, not ingenuity; it had had just as much chance of never even reaching Aiden as of success. He supposed he just got lucky.

Aiden coughed into his fist, and it was only then that Finn realised how shamefaced Aiden seemed. "I apologise," he said, not quite meeting Finn's eyes. "For almost leaving you behind like that after you came back for me. I should have ensured you could keep up with me, or at the very least I should have gone after you when you fell. I should have done more to help you. For that, I am sorry."

"It's alright," Finn reassured him, and he meant it. "I don't blame you for me tripping. I blame that bastard of a loose rock." That at least earned a small smile out of Aiden. "Besides, I didn't die in the end, so what does it matter."

"No, you did not," admitted Aiden. "But only because of Bounty."

And now they were back to this. Finn glanced over at the person in question once more, trying to make sense of him. Of why he'd come back, despite all the shit between them.

"You should thank him," encouraged Aiden, noticing his gaze. Finn looked at Aiden sharply, but the Faunus' features were moulded into neutrality. Finn gave a bitter chuckle.

"We're not exactly on good talking terms," explained Finn. "In case you've forgotten, he thinks I'm a treacherous snake who cares for nothing but his own hide."

"Do you?"

"Of course not," snapped Finn. Then he sighed. "I mean… I don't try to be. But I made a promise to my wife that I'd come home alive. At first that was all I could think about. That's why I had such a piss-poor attitude with Sergeant Cole. I was trying to make him kick me out. And that's why when we were first attacked I… I ran," he admitted. Saying it out loud, realising that he would have barely given the others a passing thought had they not found him afterwards, wouldn't have really cared if they'd lived or not… even he could see how selfish that had been. Worse, he could see how Jasmine would have found that selfish. He'd been so blinded by his fear and his need to get home that he'd have willingly thrown away everyone else's lives. But even if he had gotten home, could Jasmine have ever looked at him the same way as before, knowing what he'd done? He hated wondering what that would have done to their relationship. He hated thinking what kind of monster she'd have seen him as. He hated that he _had_ been that monster, even just for a while.

So yeah, he could understand why so many people in the section despised him.

"And now?" enquired Aiden. Finn looked at him, confused.

"If it came down to it now, would you leave us all to save yourself again?"

"No," answered Finn, and he knew that it was the truth. Despite his best efforts not to care, he'd begun to feel for the others. He pitied Nuke and the way she'd lost her brother so suddenly. He trusted Jaune as a leader, even despite his less than glistening track record. And Aiden: the one member of the squad who hadn't been disgusted by his mistake; who had made an effort to get to him, even when Finn refused to make an effort in return; who had been the pillar of support and encouragement Finn hadn't even realised he so desperately needed: that man he'd begun to even see as a friend. If it even came down to it again, he knew he wouldn't be able to bring himself to abandon them a second time.

"Then it does not matter what Bounty thinks. It is wrong, and he will undoubtedly realise that eventually. You did save his life after all." That much at least was true. Back when they'd been attacked by the Grimm, Finn had pulled Bounty away from the jaws of a Boarbatusk. "If nothing else," continued Aiden, "then you ought to thank him for nothing more than the mere fact he saved your life. Even if he scorns your gratitude, then at least you will know that you tried, and that it is on him to make the first move towards peace."

"Why do you care so much anyway?" questioned Finn.

Aiden took a while to respond to that. When he did, his voice seemed more subdued than before. "When you were all captured, there was nothing I could do to save you. For a moment, I thought I had lost the only family I had ever had. I realised then that this section is the most important thing to me in my life. I do not want to see it torn apart because of the animosity between Bounty and you."

Was that really what they were doing? Tearing up the team? Finn had never thought of it that way, but maybe that was because he'd been too busy arguing with Bounty. Aiden had the outsider's perspective on this one, and if what he said was true…

Finn didn't want to see that happen. Despite how much he might dislike some of the members in this section, they worked well together. They'd stubbornly clung to life through trial after trial after trial, somehow managing to stay half a step ahead of death's jaws. They'd defied every odd and expectation (mostly that they'd die within the first five minutes). They'd been spat on by a pantheon of scornful gods and had put a middle finger up at them. The thought of losing that, of losing this section after all they'd been through… it wasn't right.

"Fine," muttered Finn. "I'll talk to him." Aiden nodded his thanks as Finn eased himself to his feet. He began meandering towards Bounty, taking as long as he could to reach his destination. Eventually though, he ran out of floor space, and so, mouth unusually dry and palms inexplicably clammy, Finnegan Fletch confronted the Goliath in the room.

"Bounty," said Finn. Bounty glanced up.

"Finn," said Bounty. Not Flea. Not the nickname he'd used to call him with such contempt.

"I just… I guess I just wanted to say… that I appreciate…" Damnit, this was hard.

He knew. The bearded bastard knew what he was trying to say, goddammit. He had a little smile splayed across his face and was just sitting there, patiently waiting for Finn to spit out his gratitude. Finn almost walked away right there and then. But Aiden had been right about one thing: Bounty had saved his life. When no one else had dared to risk running back into the Beowolf's den, Bounty had in order to rescue Finn after he'd twisted his stupid ankle. Maybe it had just been because he'd been in the right place at the right time, or maybe because he seemed to have zero self-preservation, but for whatever reason Bounty had still come back for him. For that, if nothing else, he deserved some thanks.

"Thanks," he finally finished. "For, um, saving my life back there." Finnegan expected Bounty to make some stupid joke or say something snarky about Finn needing to be saved. But strangely enough, for one of the few times Finn could recall, Bounty didn't have a stupid grin plastered on his face. Instead he looked (if it were even possible for Bounty) sincere.

"I guess we're even then," he said, not a drop of sarcasm in his voice.

"Yeah. I guess so." The two men fell silent. Finn stared at Bounty. Bounty stared at Finn. The silence dragged on.

Well ok then. Job accomplished, he guessed. Finnegan turned to go.

"Hey Finn," called Bounty. Finn turned back to him. "I don't suppose… do you think we could… what I'm trying to say is…" Apparently this was proving as hard for Bounty as it had been for Finn. "Have a beer," he finally offered, holding up a can. Finn's eyes widened.

"Where on Remnant did you find that?"

"Turns out the ice pricks do drink," grinned Bounty. "Found this in a storage cupboard whilst checking out the ship." Finnegan thought about it for a full second, before his thirst overpowered his suspicion. He took the peace offering for what it was, then tentatively sat down opposite Bounty. "To not having buggered it up too bad," Bounty toasted cautiously.

"To getting the fuck out of this nightmare," replied Finn. The two tentative allies chinked cans and drank deeply.

God that tasted good. Finn had almost forgotten how heavenly a cold one could be, especially when it had been deserved. Finn reckoned after all the shit they'd been through they were owed at least a few truckloads of the stuff. And whilst the company could have certainly been improved… it wasn't as bad as Finn had feared. At least Bounty seemed to be behaving: his boisterous, loudmouthed, crude behaviour for once subdued. In fact, it seemed Bounty was even making an effort to be civil.

Well, Finn supposed he could at least try to do the same.

"That's a good beer," he noted.

"Real good."

"Tastes… good."

"Yeah…"

The conversation petered off into silence.

"Can't remember the last time I had one of these," Finn tried again.

"Been bloody ages."

"At least before joining the army."

"At least."

Finn's mind came up blank with a response.

Damnit, why was this so hard? It was just talking. Just conversing with a man whom Finn had considered a nemesis not two days ago. How difficult could that be?

"Can you… tell me about your wife," tried Bounty. Finn's eyes instinctively flashed in warning, and Bounty quickly raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, fine. You don't have to tell me about her if you don't want. I can't blame you. I just thought… forget it."

Too right he should forget it. Tell Bounty about his wife? That was… it was… it just wasn't right. After what he'd said about Jasmine, Bounty had no right to know about her. No right at all. It was… it was weird and creepy and…

Why was it so bad? Finn didn't own Jasmine. She wasn't his to decide who would know about her. And Bounty's question… maybe it'd just been a bad attempt at making conversation, but… maybe he was sorry about what he'd said about her before. He had apologised for it, once, but Finn had been in no mood for forgiveness then. Maybe he wanted to broach the subject again because he felt guilty about it. Was it wrong to spit on Bounty so quickly?

Out of the corner of his eye, Finn noticed movement from Aiden. He looked over to the wolf Faunus, the other man giving him not-so-subtle hints to talk, probably having overheard their entire conversation.

Nosey bloody parker.

"Jasmine is…" began Finn, "she's everything you could ever want in a wife. In a human. Sweet. Caring. Compassionate. She's never loved me for anything but who I am, but even so she makes me want to be a better person. For her."

"She sounds like a great person," Bounty said tightly.

"She is. She's the best person in the whole damn world. There isn't a day that goes by when I don't wonder how in hell a guy like me ended up finding a girl like her. Guess I must be the luckiest man alive."

"How did you meet?"

Finn chuckled at the memory. "I met her when I went to a bar."

"You met her in a bar?"

"In a bar? God no, Jasmine doesn't touch alcohol. I bumped into her on the way to a bar. Literally bumped into her. Knocked her handbag out of her hands. She thought I was mugging her at first." Even Bounty laughed at that. "When she realised it was an accident she was so embarrassed she asked if she could make it up to me with a drink. I thought she meant alcohol. Turned out she meant coffee. Still ended up being the best decision I ever took."

"It sounds like you love her," breathed Bounty. Finn peered at him, but Bounty's eyes were a million miles away. What kind of question was that?

"I do," said Finn cautiously.

The answer seemed to drag Bounty back to the present. He blinked at Finn, as if only just realising he was there, then looked down. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "For what I said about her before. I mean it."

Finn shifted uncomfortably. Now would be the time a good person would have forgiven Bounty. But… "Why did you even say it?" he asked.

"Cause I'm an arsehole, remember?"

"That's not a reason."

"No, it's not, but it's better than the truth, so that's what I'll give you." Bounty gave Finn a brittle smile. "But I didn't mean any of it. I just wanted to hurt you, and I'm genuinely sorry. I understand if you can't forgive me, but… there it is. I was wrong."

Finn mulled over the apology. On the one hand, he still half wanted to tell Bounty to stuff it. After what he'd called Jasmine that night around the campfire—a whore—a part of him could never forget that. But then again, Bounty was at least trying to apologise for that. And he seemed to genuinely mean it as well. To throw that back in his face, right when he was trying to open up just felt… cruel. And it wouldn't do the section any good to hold a grudge against Bounty. Besides, Jasmine would have told him to forgive and move on. Even if it was she that had been insulted, she would have told him to let his resentment go. Still though…

This time, he didn't even bother acknowledging Aiden's attempts to get his attention.

"After what you said about my wife… I don't think I could ever quite forgive you…" Bounty's gaze dropped, acceptance and, worse, understanding gleaming in his eyes, until Finn added, "But maybe… maybe we can move past it. You did bring me beer, I suppose."

Bounty nodded, and Finn returned the gesture, an unspoken agreement passing between the two men. They still weren't quite sure where they stood with each other, but they were willing to make an effort to move past what had gone on between them before. "A man forgets, but never forgives," intoned Bounty. "A woman forgives but never forgets."

"The hell was that?" enquired Finn.

"Just an old saying I heard," explained Bounty. "Dunno, it felt apt."

"I guess…" said Finn. The man part he could understand, but he didn't see how mentioning the woman bit had been relevant. At least, he didn't, until Bounty's eyes flickered up. Finn followed Bounty's line of sight, and when he saw whom they rested on, realisation clicked into place for Finn.

Ah. Bounty was talking about _that_ train wreck.

"I really fucked up, didn't I?" muttered Bounty.

"You really did."

"Not helping."

Finn sighed and glanced over at Cat again, who was sitting a little way away and point-blank refusing to acknowledge them. Finnegan remembered how close Bounty and Cat had been not too long ago; Tweedledum and Tweedle-bleeding-dee, sparring jokes and fencing banter. But ever since that night around the camp fire, when Bounty had had the genius idea to insult not only Finn's wife, but all of womenkind as well…

Turned out Cat wasn't the forgiving _or_ the forgetting type.

Finnegan didn't really know why he cared. Bounty had only just stopped being a dick to him, and Cat probably still hated his guts. He didn't owe either of them anything. And yet… there was something undeniably… sad about what had been lost between the two of them. Cat hadn't joked as much since then and seemed to have become even more bitchy (if that were even possible). Bounty meanwhile… he didn't laugh like he used to. Didn't grin so much. And from the sheer glumness in his voice when he'd referred to Cat, it was clear that what he'd said was eating him up. For some strange, undefined reason, that bothered Finn more than it should have.

Must be the alcohol.

"You should talk to her, you know," Finn told him. "She cares about you more than she wants to admit. Whatever beef is between you is clearly eating her up. And you." He gave a pointed stare at Bounty.

Bounty sighed. "What would I even tell her? 'Hey Cat, sorry for saying all women are unfaithful sluts, I was thinking maybe we could just move on past that. What do you say?' That's probably the surest way of getting a boot up my arse."

"Maybe," replied Finn. "Doesn't matter though. You still have to apologise to her for what you said." Bounty peered at him, his look making it clear that he either thought Finn hadn't heard him properly, or that he was too thick to understand the stupidity of that suggestion. "This isn't about you anymore," explained Finn, rolling his eyes. "This is about trying to make up for being an arse. So you're going to go over there and say that you were wrong and stupid and that you're sorry. Then whether she kisses you or kicks you, you take it, because it's no less than you deserve. But at the very least you have to apologise." Saying sorry. That's what Jasmine would have said to do. Finn wasn't a good person, but he had one hell of a role model to work towards. "Besides, things can't get any worse than they already are between you two," he added.

Bounty scrutinized Finn long and hard, judging the truth behind his words. Finally, he sighed. "We'll I suppose you're right about that. Fine, I'll do it."

"Great. After you," said Finn, indicating to where Cat was sitting.

"Now?!"

"Why not? Unless you're scared?"

"Of course not," Bounty grumbled. When Finn still made no move to go first, Bounty sighed. He tensed his gut, as if that would steel his nerves. Then without warning he leapt to his feet and advanced on Cat, as if desperate to close the distance before his courage could abandon him.

Now that Bounty's back was turned, Finn's plastered grin slid off his face, revealing the grimace underneath. This wasn't going to be pretty. Not by a long shot. This would be a raging sea slamming against a mountain. A feral tiger slashing into a boulder. A Cat against a Bounty. They'd be lucky if the whole airship wasn't torn out of the sky in a blazing wreck by the end.

Finn probably ought to go with Bounty to ensure the collateral damage was kept to a minimum. He was probably morally obliged to try to reduce casualties, seeing as he was the one who'd sent Bounty Cat's way. In that case, he should also probably stop stalling and just get on with it.

Finn sighed. This was going to be a pain in the arse.

* * *

Cat saw him coming. Saw him and pretended she didn't, continuing to clean a spotless Atlesian weapon she'd nicked from somewhere on the ship. Bounty got to within a full foot of her and still she refused to acknowledge his presence. She just had to make this harder.

Bounty coughed into his fist. Cat didn't react. "Cat…" he began.

"What?" she demanded. Short. Snappy. Sharp. So that was how this conversation was going to proceed. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Bounty allowed himself a single, steading breath before he began. He felt Finn's presence behind him, hovering awkwardly at a safe distance, but he didn't care. Finn was right about one thing: this was about Cat now. "Cat, I want you to know that I'm sorry. What I said, that night around the campfire, it wa—"

"What _did_ you say that night, Bounty?" asked Cat, her voice as sweet as venom. "Please, refresh my memory."

"You know what I said."

"Oh no, I really don't. Why don't you remind me again what you told us all, hm?"

Bounty gnashed his teeth together. Cat just couldn't make this easier on them all, could she? "I said, that all women… that all women were… unfaithful," he gritted out, the words he used so freely now like nails on his ears.

"Are you sure you said that? I could have sworn you phrased it differently. What exactly did you say, Bounty?"

Damn her for making him say it. Damn Finn for the accusing gaze that bore into his back like a drill. Damn himself for getting him in this situation in the first place. "I said," he ground out, hating himself even as he repeated, "that women wouldn't know the meaning of faithful if it bit them on the tit."

"Oh yes! That was it, wasn't it?" In the blink of an eye, Cat's mockingly sweet façade was gone, torn off and slashed to bloody ribbons as a twisted snarl just on the wrong side of feral took its place. "Is that what you think of me, Bounty? Of Naomi? Are we little more than jumped-up whores with guns?"

"I didn't mean th—"

"But you said it," she accused, and damn her if she wasn't dead right. "So what did you mean? What possessed you to spit in our faces that bad? What on Remnant could you have been thinking of when you said th—"

"I was thinking of my wife!" shouted Bounty. Cat's mouth snapped shut. Before she could interject again, Bounty ploughed on. "I wasn't thinking of you, or Naomi, or even Jasmine. I was thinking of Jade, my wife." Finnegan was wrong. It wasn't enough to just apologise to Cat, not after what he'd done. She deserved to know the reason behind it. Maybe it was just self-justification at this point, but Cat thought that he didn't care about her, and that wasn't true. Bounty wanted to make sure she knew that. "My wife, who I would come home after work every day to find had mysteriously cleaned off half a bottle of champagne with not one, but two glasses. My wife, who would find herself called away on sudden business trips for the weekend, but who never seemed able to give a convincing answer as to where she'd been or what she'd done. My wife, who'd I'd come home early one day, to see fucking another man in my bed!"

The rage, now a familiar and hated accomplice, burned away at his insides, pounding for release with each beat of his tortured heart. The memory was still so hot in his mind, so sharp, even after years and years of him taking it out and forcing himself to play through it again and again and again in a futile attempt to dull the spikes of pain that came laced throughout that one, hated scene. He'd seen it coming. A blind person could have seen it coming. But still he'd held out on some far-fetched vestige of hope that maybe he'd been wrong.

"Your wife?" Finn finally asked, taking over for the silently judging Cat. "Not your ex."

"More out of convenience than anything else," Bounty grumbled. "Her lover bolted and never looked back, leaving her nowhere to go. And the house belonged to her mother, so I wouldn't have gotten jack shit in the divorce. Besides, we had a son. We decided to keep it together for him. Maybe it would have been better if we'd just never laid eyes on each other again. Then at least we wouldn't have been living a lie."

"When I told you Jasmine was my wife, you told me I was a fool." Bounty nodded. "Was that because of your marriage?"

"Yeah," muttered Bounty. "It wasn't pretty. I'd disappear to the pub for hours, then come home blind drunk and start fighting with her. I've always had a temper, but it got even worse after that. We'd just shout at each other for hours. I think our son suffered the worst from it. He couldn't do homework or sleep or anything when we were having one of our rows. He'd go around to his friend's house after school more and more. Now he's graduated, and he won't even talk to me. I can't say I blame him."

"That's why you joined the army," Finn guessed. Bounty nodded.

"I was a terrible husband and an even worse father. I just needed to get away from that life, from everything. And if I died out here, I figured it was no less than I deserved." Bounty stopped and looked at Cat. She still hadn't moved, still hadn't said anything else. He'd gone off track he realised. He was supposed to be apologising to Cat, not sharing his sob story. "I just wanted you to know that," he told Cat, "so that you realise I wasn't talking about you. I was angry and pissed, and I wasn't thinking straight. And if you can never find it in yourself to forgive me, then I don't even blame you. I just want you to know that I never meant what I said about yo—"

"Beg," stated Cat.

"Come again?" questioned Bounty, not entirely sure he'd heard right.

"Beg," repeated Cat, her face rigidly uncompromising. "Get on the floor and beg."

"Cat, I'm not beggin—"

"Then you can forget about my forgiveness," Cat shot back.

Bounty looked to Finn, who was giving him that look, raised eyebrow and everything. Bounty sighed in defeat. Fine.

"I," began Bounty, plonking himself onto his knees, "Sir Bounty of Vale, do solemnly beg the forgiveness of my one true lady, Cat. That good enough for you?"

"Lower." Bounty raised an eyebrow. Cat's face mirrored his. Bounty relented and bent his back a little more. "Lower." Bounty tightened his jaw and leaned over even further. "Lower."

"If I go any lower I'll be eating the floor," growled Bounty.

Cat sighed theatrically. "Then I suppose that'll have to do. I, Lady Cat Wentz, do humbly accept your gracious apology. Rise, noble Bounty." Bounty hefted himself off the floor, grumbling all the way, but it was worth it for the grin Cat shot him once he'd risen to his feet, the first genuine one he'd seen directed his way for an age.

"You're an ass," Cat told him. "You know that?"

"Yeah," answered Bounty. "I do."

"But," continued Cat, "I've known more than enough sexist jackasses who think women exist for the sole purpose of their entertainment; that they can't possibly be equal to men in anything. Hell, I've dated my fair share of them. So… it's good to know you're not one of those guys. And… I guess… what I'm trying to say is… it's good to have you back… as a friend again."

Bounty smirked. "Do I sense a hug coming?"

"In your dreams. You get a pat on the back at most."

"I'll take it," grinned Bounty. So long as it meant he'd regained a friend, his pride could survive a little pruning. For once, someone else's happiness was more important than his own.

Cat suddenly spun on Finn, and from the look on his face Bounty could have sworn he was considering the merits of bolting as she accused, "I'm still not sure how I feel about you, Flea."

"Easy, Tiger," laughed Bounty, coming to his fellow man's aid. "He's the one who convinced me I should apologise to you. I think he's earned himself a break."

"Still doesn't make up for abandoning us."

"True, but he did save my life after that. Doesn't that negate what he did?"

Cat narrowed her eyes, assessing Bounty's statement as Finn was left to squirm under her gaze. Finally, she said, "That depends."

"On?"

"One thing. Just one thing I want to know first. If one of us were in danger again, would you leave us to save yourself?"

"I wouldn't," answered Finn, his voice firm.

"Promise it," demanded Cat. "Promise us that you won't abandon one of us to die. Even if it means you'll die too."

Finn's jaw tightened, and for a moment looked like he might not answer. But then he said, "I promise."

"Alright then," accepted Cat, her stare softening marginally, finally releasing Finn from its intensity. "In that case I'm… willing to start over. Actions speak louder than words, and yours… have been pretty contradictory so far. So I guess I'll wipe the slate clean and let you try again from scratch."

"Geez, such generous terms," remarked Finn drily.

"That's the deal, take it or leave it."

"Fine," conceded Finn.

"Fine," replied Cat.

"Fine," concluded Bounty.

And that was that.

* * *

Jaune, for what felt like the first time in millennia, was finally relaxing. He sat reclined on what had to be the comfiest captain's chair ever created in the cockpit of the ship. In front of him was a holographic monitor, and beyond that were enormous, bulbous cockpit windows, giving Jaune a sweeping view of the land as they soared high above it. To either side of Jaune's throne were two stations with their own holographic projectors, behind which sat Phil and Naomi on noticeably less comfy seats. Naomi was scrolling through some vast data bank, her quick eyes soaking up the information in front of her, whilst Phil was simply marvelling at the engineering of his computer.

Just then, Terry entered the cockpit. "I've done a full inventory check of the ship, Sarge."

"Oh, uh, thanks Terry." He didn't remember ever asking for one.

"There were a few spare rifles in one locker, but not a lot of ammo with them. There's a compartment of drinks, and some snacks, but no ration packets. Apart from that, there's not a lot in the way of supplies."

"Uh, right."

"Relax, Terrier," said Naomi, rolling her eyes. "Once we arrive at this military base they'll undoubtedly furnish us with any equipment we require."

"I just want to be prepared for the worst," defended Terry.

"Nah, we've made it through the worst," assured Phil. "It's easy sailing from here on out."

"Except for the war still going on."

"At least we'll be on the correct side of it this time," pointed out Naomi.

"True…" conceded Terry.

"Don't worry, Terry," comforted Jaune. "I really think things will get better from here. They can hardly get any worse than they've already been, right? What's the worst that could happ—"

The holographic projector in front of Jaune beeped insistently. Everyone froze. The beeping persisted.

Oh you had to be kidding.

"Uh, someone wants to open a video chat, Jaune," Phil said uncertainly. "The tag says it's top priority."

"L-let it go to voicemail?" joked Terry.

"Wait, what if it's from a senior member of the Atlas military? We might be able to deceive them into revealing something significant," urged Naomi.

"Uh, nuh-uh. Not a good idea," stated Phil. "It's a video call. They'll see you're not General Watts immediately."

Jaune pulled his hand through his hair and considered his options. On the one hand, he could just ignore the call. That would be the safest course of action. But it wouldn't help anyone. If he accepted the call though, he might be able to gleam some information that would help them against Atlas. This was an Atlesian general's own personal ship, after all. In all likelihood, the call would contain some sensitive information which would be invaluable to have. At worse, the person on the other end of the line would realise he was being duped and hang up on them, in which case, nothing was gained or lost. Even if they traced the call, Jaune was on an airship travelling through the air at goodness knew what speed. They wouldn't be able to find him.

"Open up an audio call, but keep the visuals off," Jaune commanded. "No matter what happens I don't want to hear a peep from any of you," he said, addressing the others. They all nodded in compliance.

"If you say so. Patching the call through now," said Phil. A moment later, Jaune's ears were greeted by the mysterious caller.

"Watts," the voice purred. "I was wondering where you had gotten to."

It wasn't a man as Jaune had expected, but a woman. Her voice was eerily soft, unhurried and with a sort of predator's grace to it. Even through the call, Jaune felt the power behind that voice radiating through the cockpit, setting his teeth on edge. This was not a person to be taken lightly. Jaune inadvertently shivered but stayed quiet.

"It is time to proceed to the next stage of my plan." Jaune's stomach clenched angrily. _"My plan"_ , she'd said. She thought she was talking to the head of the Atlas military, but she hadn't said your plan, or even our plan. She'd said _her_ plan.

Something wasn't right.

The woman continued oblivious. "Regrettably, the authorities of Mistral and Vacuo are proving more troublesome to manipulate than those of Atlas were, even despite our little friend in Mistral." Jaune frowned. Manipulate? His stomach was a whirling mass of flesh eating worms. This was all wrong. What on Remnant had he gotten his section involved in?

Slowly, careful not to make a sound, Jaune turned to Phil. He mouthed out a simple order. _Trace her_. Phil nodded his understanding, then silently began tapping keys on a consol.

"It is time we forced their hands into joining this war. Cinder and her team are in position to initiate the Breach. You are to use the Atlesian military to attack Vale as soon as they are ready." Jaune couldn't help it. He gasped.

That was all it took.

The woman went silent, then returned a second later, her voice like icy daggers piercing through the line.

"Who is this? Where is Watts? What are you doing on his ship?" she demanded. Jaune clamped his mouth shut and glanced furtively to Phil. His fingers were flying over the keys, but his desperate face said everything Jaune needed to know. He hadn't managed to trace the call. Jaune realised the woman would hang up in an instant, and all hope of figuring out who she was and why she seemed intent on attacking Vale would be lost. He needed to buy Phil more time.

"My name is Sergeant Arc!" Jaune blurted out.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Might as well just give the creepy lady his address and scroll number whilst he was at it.

"Sergeant Arc," purred the woman, tasting the word as if it were a particularly exotic wine. "My, my, my, you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, do you?" Jaune really didn't, and he sincerely hoped this woman wouldn't tell him. He flashed a look at Phil but alas, he was still working on tracing the signal. Damn. Well, looked like he was going to have to socialise with the scary woman.

"Who are you?" Jaune asked in what he hoped was a commanding tone. The lady just laughed mockingly.

"Who am I?" she mimicked, and Jaune could practically hear her venomous smile through the audio call as she said, "Why don't you open the video call and see." Nope. No way was Jaune doing that. After a pause, the woman continued.

"Well if we're done talking about me, let's talk about you, _Sergeant Arc_." Jaune doubted she was being sincere about his title. "You are from Vale judging by your accent, likely from the city, or at least a large town. You are young, seventeen or eighteen perhaps. You joined the Valesian army, likely for the grandeur of protecting your Kingdom, or some such nonsense. You are surrounded by the men of your section, or else you couldn't have stolen this ship. At least, you call them your men, but in reality, that is far too generous a term for the pitiful amount of loyalty they feel for you." Jaune's brain felt frozen and sluggish under the onslaught of the woman's words. How could she know so much about him from how little he'd said? And what was that about his friend's loyalty? "I know where Watts's ship was stationed when you no doubt stole it," continued the lady. "Deep behind Atlas lines, and far from any support from your Kingdom. And a sergeant at your age?" She laughed cruelly. "That is a pitiful suggestion. Let me guess: you were abandoned by your own side and left to die in the Grimm-held forests. Your commanding officer has already fallen prey either to the Grimm or enemy soldiers, leaving your little band of misfits with no one better to lead them than you, Arc. And now you're trying to claw your way back to your own lines. But it must have been a hard journey. Not everyone made it this far, did they?"

She was bluffing. She must have been bluffing. There was no way she could have known about Buzz. But Naomi's gasp was all the confirmation she needed.

She laughed again. "My, oh my, Arc, the invasion has lasted barely two weeks and you have already failed your own. Tell me: how did they die? Was it painful? Was it you who failed to save them, Arc, or some other pitiful excuse for a soldier on Watts' ship? Did they die, screaming your name, knowing at the end of their miserable life that all their trust had been placed in a fraud?" Jaune tried not to listen. He tried to move his frozen hand to end the cursed call, location tracked or not. But he couldn't. It wasn't that her words were lies, attempting to belittle him or demeaner his opinion of himself. They were so much worse.

They were truths.

He _had_ failed Buzz. He _had_ let him die. And then when that had happened he'd closed in on himself and left his section leaderless. He'd finally pulled himself together and gotten his team up again, but that didn't excuse what he'd done before. Her words were like ice cold knives piercing his skin, ripping off the façade he'd been wearing and revealing him for what he was. He wasn't a hero, or a good person, or even a sergeant. He was a failure. A loser. A fraud. Who was he to strut around with the sergeant rank slide when there were people so much more competent than him now in graves. Sergeant Cole should have been the one to lead them, or even Ash. What sick joke of the universe had struck those two great men down just so Jaune could still live? This woman wasn't making things up about him.

She was holding a mirror to his face.

"What's the matter, Arc?" the woman singsonged. "Creep got your tongue? Well then, allow me to tell you what is going to happen to you: your men may have banded under you whilst that was the only alternative to dying, but what do you think will happen when you finally reach safety? Do you really think they'll still want to follow you, knowing all your mistakes? Their loyalty is a charade. They will abandon you the first chance they get, leaving you all alone again. The sad thing is, can you even blame them?"

"Jaune!" yelled Phil, waving his hands wildly at the keyboard in front of him. The message was clear. He'd tracked the signal!

Jaune suddenly flew back into action, his paralysis broken. All he wanted to do was cease this cursed call right now. His finger was inches above the button when the woman spoke again.

"That's right, Jaune Arc, your companion has finally managed to trace my signal." Jaune's blood turned to ice in his veins. She knew his name. And how did she know they'd been tracking her? "You have tried to play me for a fool, Jaune Arc," the woman hissed, the first emotion she'd expressed this conversation breaking through her calm, collected attitude. "That will turn out to be your biggest mistake." Gone was the mocking tone from before. Now the woman's voice was filled with pure, unbound malice, so thick it made Jaune flinch. "You can try to tell the authorities of my location if you wish. It matters not. They will not listen, and by the time they do, it will already be too late. But I promise you this one thing, Jaune Arc: I will have everyone you love found and killed. Slowly. I do hope you survive long enough to witness that. It would please me greatly."

Jaune's hands were clenched so hard they'd turned bone white. This woman—no, this monster, was vowing to kill his family, his squad mates, his friends at Beacon. He should just hit the button under his finger and end this damned call. But he didn't. Instead, he slammed his fist on the button next to it, transferring the call to video chat. Someone gasped behind him, but he didn't care. Some unnameable urge required him to see the face of this demon. Maybe he did it to prove to himself that she was only human, that she surely didn't have that much power to find everyone he cared about.

But it wasn't a human face that stared back at him through the holographic monitor. It was an abomination. A twisted, demented hybrid between human and… and…

Grimm.

The white face and burning black veins of his adversary twisted to form an evil smile. The nightmare leaned closer to the camera, her leering face growing to monstrous proportions in the hologram.

"Remember my name when you are lying in a pool of your own blood, Jaune Arc," it said. "My name is Salem." Her eyes glowed the colour of poisoned blood. Everything about her was twisted and wrong. If anything was the embodiment of evil on Remnant, then this was it.

But Jaune Arc didn't back down. She had threatened his friends, his family, all because he'd been arrogant enough to try to deceive her. He'd be damned if he let her.

"Fuck you," snarled Jaune, slamming the 'end call' button. Instantly, the screen went black, the audio died, and the monster that had smiled at Jaune was gone.

For now.

Jaune slumped back into his chair, fear once more flooding his system as his bravado faded.

What had he done?

* * *

"This is bad, Jaune."

"Yeah, I know."

"I mean, really bad."

"Trust me, I know."

"Like, really, really, _really_ bad. Next level bad. A-creepy-Grimm-lady-just-commanded-an-attack-on-Vale level bad."

"Phil," interrupted Jaune, "I know. It's bad. Or did you forget what that… thing, told me." Jaune shivered. After the call had ended he'd sent Naomi and Terry out of the cockpit to tell the others what they'd heard, leaving only himself and Phil behind. His mind had been in overdrive ever since, analysing every individual word and sentence for some previously overlooked clue as to what the hell was going on. Who was that lady? Why was she calling the general of the Atlas army? Who was Cinder?

Why was a Grimm calling the shots in this war?

Jaune considered everything he thought he knew about the Grimm. They were supposed to be stupid. They were supposed to be mindless slaves to their sole desire to destroy man. They were supposed to be the darkness, and humans the light.

So where did this lady fit into all that?

"We need to tell command," stated Phil. "I managed to trace her rough location. We can give them an idea of where to head, hopefully to take her out. If what this woman said is true, then all of Vale could be at risk."

"I know," agreed Jaune. "Can we send them a message from here?"

"No can do. This is an Atlesian ship, remember? They wouldn't trust anything we said over comms."

"Then we'll tell them what we've learnt when arrive at their base." At least, they'd try. Jaune still couldn't shake what the monster… Salem, had said. That by the time the authorities listened to them it'd be too late. Jaune could only pray she was wrong. "How long until we land anyway?"

"Not long now. A few more minutes. I'll let you know when we're close." Jaune nodded. "And, uh, Jaune?" Jaune looked up at Phil. "What she said about us—our loyalty. She was lying. You know that, right? We won't abandon you. You're our sergeant." Jaune gave Phil a tight smile and nodded his thanks, not trusting his voice not to wobble if he said anything. That Phil at the very least was still willing to trust him after all this time… it meant a lot to him. More than Phil probably even realised. It meant that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't such a failure after all.

Jaune quickly turned back to his monitor to hide the sudden dampness of his eyes.

Twenty minutes later, a burst of static crackled out of the console. Phil immediately replied, somehow able to decipher the meaning behind the garbled transmission. After a few more exchanges, Phil turned back to Jaune, confirming that, thankfully, he had convinced the Valesian army not to blow them out of the sky.

For some reason, that didn't seem to comfort Jaune as much as Phil had clearly expected it to.

A few moments later the base appeared before them. This was a real military base, not the measly outpost they'd been sent to at the beginning of this war. Wrapped around the outside of the compound sat a tangled mess of tortured metal and twisted wire guarding the perimeter, and beyond that lay a long stretch of conspicuously empty ground, looking suspiciously as though it had been recently dug up and then laid down again.

Minefields, Phil had merrily informed Jaune.

Jutting out of the corners of the barbed wire walls stood threatening watchtowers, scrutinizing the horizon, as if daring the outside world to approach at its peril. Within the protective confines of the steel fortress squatted little mounds of dirt, turning the earth into a roiling sea of green frozen in time. From the depths of this verdant ocean burst glimpses of grey doorframes, hints of the concrete catacombs burrowing through the grass surface and peeking into the weak sunlight.

Jaune gulped as he noticed two anti-aircraft guns swivel to track their airship from the nearest watchtowers as they glided over the barbed wire perimeter, but true to Phil's assurances, they didn't open fire. Phil expertly manoeuvred the aircraft towards a scattering of landing pads (little more than circles of flat ground partly hidden by a cover of trees) and Jaune spotted a group of armed soldiers advancing towards their ship.

"I suppose that's the welcome party," joked Phil.

"Come on," said Jaune. "Let's go say hello."

Jaune and his assembled men soon stood before the entrance ramp, currently closed. Jaune noticed how restless the others seemed, and even he was struggling to keep a composed form. They'd made it. They'd finally made it back. After everything they'd gone through, all the destruction and the despair and the death they'd fought tooth and nail to get through, they had finally returned to their own lines. Even with the revelation of this Salem thing, Jaune couldn't help but feel that things were finally looking up for them. Now maybe someone could explain what the hell was going on with this war. Now maybe someone would have an actual idea as to what to do about it. And when Jaune told them about Salem, they'd surely see the threat she posed and do something about it. They wouldn't leave such a discovery unacted upon.

Could it be that they were safe at last?

"Alright team, listen up," he addressed his section. "Remember, they don't know whether we're Atlas or not, so no sudden movements, alright."

"Right, 'cause we were totally planning to shoot them all up the moment we saw them," deadpanned Cat.

Naomi rolled her eyes. "Come on, Cat, behave."

Jaune turned back to the ramp, but then he paused. "Hey Phil, could you, I don't know, do something about your robot. I doubt Vale would be too happy with us bringing an enemy robot into their base."

As if realising it were being talked about, the robot perked up from where it sat by the airship entrance, swivelling its head towards Jaune. It cocked its head to one side, the movement eerily innocent, as if it were asking, _"Who? Me?"_

"Cut it out, Lightning," growled Finn. "Bloody thing is the stuff of nightmares."

"Sorry," grinned Phil, very much not sorry. "I'll shut it down and leave it on the ship. It'll still give them a scare when they check out the ship. No question. But at least we won't be here when that happens."

"Works for me," decided Jaune. "Open the ramp, Phil."

"With pleasure."

The doorway screeched open as the first rays of daylight pierced into the gloomy interior of the ship. The gap widened further and further, a friendly portal inviting them to step through into the light. Jaune smiled and was the first to step off the airship, the lost soldier leading his men home once more. He held his arms out in peace as he approached the assembly of soldiers waiting for him, not even caring about the many rifles held menacingly in his direction. His eyes skipped over the soldiers before him, looking for—

Jaune halted. He stared.

The next instant he was sprinting at the line of soldiers, ignoring their cries to halt. Anger blazed through his veins like magma. The rational part of his mind screamed at him to _"stop, stop, stop!"_ but his fury drowned that voice out. He leapt at the largest man in the group, who easily sidestepped him, slapping a hand against his back as he passed which sent him flying. Jaune landed heavily but barely registered the pain. He flew back to his feet and charged again, this time drawing Crocea Mors with an ear-grating _shrink!_ He launched himself at the man once more with an overhead swing, only to have his blade halted by the silver handle of a black mace.

And grinning behind the weapon, armour shining and face taunting, was the last man on Remnant Jaune had ever wanted to see again.

Cardin bloody Winchester.

* * *

 **Wow, ok, we actually covered a lot in this chapter. There's at least four different things to dissect within this one flight, and I almost feel bad for trying to cram them all in together. Sorry if the sheer amount of stuff this time was somewhat overwhelming. Let's break it down here. (Warning, long AN coming up):**

 **Firstly, we have Bounty and Finn's developing relationship. This is something I've wanted to sort out for a long time now. Initially I needed some people in Beta section to oppose Jaune and cause tension within the group. Not only is this more believable than everyone instantly loving Jaune, but it would also make the story more interesting.** **I started with Ash and his cynical dismissal of Jaune, but I ended up wanting him out of the picture so that the group would be left with no natural leaders or anyone who was particularly experienced, meaning Jaune would be in an even worse position when he took over. Therefore the only other character who could cause problems was Finn. But of course, it takes two to tango, and thus I decided to have Finn and Bounty develop a sort of feud. However, once the story progressed I wanted to bring Finn back into the light if you will: I didn't want anyone in Beta section to be the antagonist when there are literally monsters out there already competing for the evilest spot. So I needed to somehow sort out the beef between Bounty and Finn, developing both as their own character along the way. Their confrontation this chapter is the result of a number of factors which have been building up for several chapters, and I hope you'll tell me in a review whether you liked their resolution and what you think about their backstories.**

 **Secondly, we have Bounty's apology to Cat. This problem started in chapter 10, and I created it again for the dual reason of creating conflict between the cast and also as a chance to develop the characters. Now that the "survival" phase of the story is done, I no longer need tension between the team as a cause for conflict, so now was a good time to heal the rift between these two characters (along with Finn as well). Now that this is complete, I can hopefully bring the section into new challenges which will prove to be more interesting. Speaking of which...**

 **Salem. I had great fun writing this part, and I hope you guys liked it too (please tell me if you did or why you didn't). Having said that, this is the moment I fear most may have been lost under the rubble that is the rest of the chapter. As you can probably imagine, this is a hugely important and pivotal point for the story. For the first time ever (even in the canon show) Jaune has come face to face with his adversary (kind of). New stakes have been set. The status quo is changing. The battlefield of the last part of this fanfiction is slowly coming into view. But before we get there, we have one more problem to sort out:**

 **Cardin Winchester. So many people have asked if I will be bringing in other people from the RWBY cast, and I am proud to announce that in a (hopefully) unexpected, ironic, and perhaps cruel twist of the fates (aka me) Jaune must meet with his old nemesis once more. I'm super excited for this, and I hope you guys are too. How will this confrontation pan out? What is Cardin even doing in a military base? How much has Jaune missed whilst he was MIA? All that will be revealed...**

 **...next time. See you in two weeks (hopefully).**


	18. Chapter 18 - A Familiar Face

**Warning: seriously graphic scenes ahead. Viewer discretion is** **advised.**

 **Who am I kidding, you're probably still going to read the chapter anyway.**

* * *

" _True courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one"_

 _J.R.R Tolkien_

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen—A Familiar Face**

"Well, well, well, look who we have here. It's little Jauney boy." Jaune couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. He gaped at Cardin through their locked weapons, wondering, hoping, praying that this was all some terrible nightmare, that he wasn't really staring at the face of the last person on Remnant he'd ever wanted to see again. But if it was a dream, then by god was it vivid. He could make our ever contour on Cardin's smirking face, detect every cruel intention in his mocking blue eyes. And that nickname… _that nickname_ …

Nothing could prepare Jaune for the tsunami of bad memories that crashed through him at that hated name, flooding his system and drowning every sensible thought he had in a sea of irrational panic. This bully had been responsible for a ceaseless storm of torment and misery at Beacon; had made it his mission to belittle and mock Jaune through every means possible, and at the end of it all he had forced Jaune through a mixture of fear and isolation to through a jar of tree sap at his partner.

He was the reason Jaune had been forced to abandon his dream and leave Beacon.

And now he was here.

Jaune had thought he was over Cardin. He'd thought he'd left that chapter of his life far behind. But when he'd stood there and spotted Cardin for the first time in weeks, something had snapped in him. It had been a moment of sheer, animalistic rage that Jaune hadn't even realised was inside of him that had had him throwing himself at Cardin, consequences be damned. But now that he was here, weapon locked against Cardin's, watching the bully's face grinning that wicked grin of his, rage was fast being replaced with the cold sweat of terror. Everything he'd thought he'd forgotten, all the misery and the fear and the torment, every fault Cardin had picked up on and every weakness he'd taken advantage of came crashing back down on him, a mountain of negative emotions collapsing on Jaune.

And damnit if it didn't still affect him.

His blood boiled in fury one second then froze in horror the next. The fists gripping his sword trembled uncontrollably, but with what Jaune couldn't tell. His stomach was a hot, molten mess of swirling emotions and contradictory feelings. He wanted to punch Cardin and hide and spit in the jerk's face and run away and more. So much more. So much that he didn't have the slightest clue what to do. So instead he just stood there, staring at the face of his tormenter.

"Stand down!" Cardin commanded. "This one isn't bright enough to be Atlas." With a start Jaune realised he wasn't talking to him. All around him the Valesian soldiers, whom Jaune hadn't even realised were training their weapons on him, lowered them simultaneously. Since when had Cardin commanded soldiers?

Cardin smiled cruelly at Jaune through their locked weapons. Jaune tried desperately to suppress the shudder that wanted to run through him. The shark's grin now stretching across his face had always accompanied a taunting jibe or a demeaning comment, and even after all this time apart Jaune still wanted to cower when he saw that smirk. Damnit, how did Cardin control him so completely even now?

"What are you doing here, Cardin?" Jaune finally managed to grit out.

"In case you haven't realised, Jauney boy, there's a war going on. I'm trying to serve my kingdom." Cardin's crocodile grin slipped marginally. "Which, it seems, you're doing too." He knocked Jaune's blade to the side, disengaging their weapons, then shouldered his massive mace like it weighed nothing. "I guess that means we're on the same side, eh friend?" he finished, goading grin back in full force.

Jaune considered driving Crocea Mors as hard as he could through Cardin's stupid, grinning mug. He wanted to do something to Cardin. Anything. Just so long as it wiped that smirking face away and stopped the emotional whirlwind that was Jaune's insides. But he knew he'd never get close. Cardin may have looked like he wasn't in a position to defend himself, but Jaune knew he would be expecting Jaune to try something and would be as coiled as an adder. This was as much a test to see Jaune's reaction as a flaunting of his power. Reluctantly, Jaune sheathed his sword.

By this point the rest of Beta section had caught up to Jaune, instinctively spreading out in a fan to take defensive positions behind their leader. Their presence alone steadied Jaune's trembling and soothed his racing heartbeat. They would stand by Jaune. Come hell or high water, they'd have his back. For that, Jaune was more grateful than words could communicate.

Cardin studied each of them in turn, his eyes critical and judging. "So these are the strays you picked up during your time in the army," jeered Cardin. Then his eyes fell onto Aiden's, kept falling, and finally came to a stop on the bushy grey wolf tail of the Faunus. Cardin's taunting smile curdled on his face, replaced by a visage of contempt, but Jaune noticed how his eyes lit up hungrily, as if relishing the opportunity to attack a weak link. "What's this animal doing in the army?" he demanded, a child gleefully burning ants. "Last I checked, Vale needed men, not dogs to win this war." Cardin laughed cruelly at his own joke. Aiden's head remained upright, his face rigid, refusing to allow the thug's words to penetrate his silence with a retaliation. But that didn't stop Jaune noticing his tail slow its wagging and hang limp, as if ashamed of its very existence, the only clue that Cardin's jibes were cutting deeper than Aiden was letting show. "Who let you into the real men—"

Cardin was cut off by a rifle suddenly shoved against his nose.

"Say one more word," hissed Cat, her eyes ablaze even as the Valesian soldiers around them lifted their guns to aim at Cat. Beta section responded likewise, and Jaune soon found himself in the middle of a circle of rifles pointed menacingly in every conceivable direction.

"Stop!" yelped Jaune, desperate to avoid a pointless bloodbath. "Don't shoot. Cat, what on Remnant are you doing?" he hissed.

"One more word," continued Cat, completely ignoring Jaune as she trained her rage solely on the brute in front of her, "and you can eat a faceful of dust."

Cardin gulped as he stared down the business end of the rifle, then quickly regained a look of immense boredom. "You know that won't kill me, right?" he drawled, feigning nonchalance. "I have aura."

"Good," shot Cat. "I don't want this to kill. I just want you picking teeth out the back of your mouth in about two seconds if you don't stay the hell away from Aiden. Or did your mummy forget to tell you to pick on someone with balls your own size." Cat's sabre-tooth smile spoke volumes about exactly whom she was referring to.

Cardin stared hard into Cat's eyes, and whatever he saw there made him quake. "Whatever," he dismissed, attempting to regain whatever dignity hadn't been lost by Cat's vicious assault.

Cat finally lowered her weapon, though she kept it pointing in Cardin's general direction, and her wary eyes didn't leave him once. Even so, that seemed to be enough for the men Cardin had brought, who dropped their rifles, closely followed by Beta section. Jaune loosened a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"Now that we've established you're not Atlas," drawled Cardin, attempting to regain control of the situation, "Command's going to want to see your commanding officer. So who's that?"

"Me," answered Jaune, stepping forward again. Cardin's eyebrows rose marginally, but then he clamped down on his facial features and put the taunting mask back on.

"Are you kidding me? You, a CO? Looks like the army's standards are slipping."

"Just tell me where command is," sighed Jaune. He wanted to argue with Cardin, but it wouldn't get them anywhere. He had more important things to do.

"Sure thing, Jauney boy. Just follow me right this way." Cardin spun around and marched towards one of the bunkers hidden under the ground. Jaune paused before following him, making sure his team were alright.

"You did not have to defend me, Cat," said Aiden. "I have heard and survived far worse torment than what he gave me."

"The guy's a dick," Cat stated stubbornly. "Someone needed to put him in his place. It wasn't because I cared about you or anything," she quickly amended. "I just wanted to tell that jerk to shove it."

"Of course," replied Aiden, hiding his smile behind a hand.

"Is there somewhere my section can rest up while I talk to command?" Jaune asked one of the welcoming party. The man grunted and indicated to follow him. Jaune nodded to his squad to do so, and soon Jaune was left alone. Despite how much it pained him to do so, he hurried to catch up with Cardin.

Jaune walked a few paces behind the armoured boy, trying to make sense of his whirling emotions. Jaune wasn't stupid enough to blame Cardin solely for when Jaune had thrown a jar of sap at Pyrrha. He hadn't been controlling his hand after all. But that didn't mean Jaune couldn't blame Cardin partially. Ever since Cardin had discovered Jaune had faked his transcripts, he'd had him on a leash, and his distance from his friends towards the end had been primarily because Jaune had been so busy doing homework assignments for Cardin. Even in the Forest of Forever Fall, after Cardin and his team had surrounded and bullied Jaune into taking the jar of sap and throwing it at Pyrrha, he'd still gone and told Ozpin about Jaune's faked transcripts. Cardin had ensured that Jaune would never get the chance to talk to his team again, to apologise to them for what he'd done. He ruined his dream and his team—

Wait. His team. What if they were here too?

"Cardin," he began excitedly. "Did anyone else come with you? Did my team join the army as wel—"

"Ha, not likely," scoffed Cardin. Jaune's heart fell. "I'm the only one from the first years who knows when duty calls," he muttered bitterly.

"You… volunteered?"

"Of course I did. My Kingdom needs me, and I'll be damned before I let some frozen pricks from Atlas destroy it. The moment war broke out I went straight to Ozpin and demanded that we do something. He refused. So I decided to do it myself."

"You left Beacon? Why would you give up your dream so easily?" Jaune asked incredulously. He'd only joined the army because he'd been kicked out of Beacon, but Cardin had actively decided to leave in favour of joining the military.

"Being a Huntsman isn't all it's cracked up to be," muttered Cardin. "Ozpin is supposed to be one, but instead of fighting to protect his Kingdom and all the civilians in it, he'd rather hold onto his precious school and let the rest of the world go to hell. If that's what a Huntsman does, then you can forget it."

"What do your parents think of your decision?"

"My mum's dead," said Cardin, "and my dad hasn't cared what I do since I was eleven." Jaune flinched. It wasn't just what Cardin had said, but how emotionlessly he'd said it, as if it were just an accepted part of life.

"Cardin…" began Jaune uncertainly.

"Don't," snarled Cardin quietly. "I don't need your sympathies, and I certainly don't need your apologies. So just don't." Jaune shut his mouth.

Eventually though, as the silence dragged on, Jaune found his curiosity piping up again.

"So no one else is here? But wouldn't it give us a greater advantage to have more Huntsmen on our side, even if they're just in training." He'd have thought both Kingdoms would have been desperate to get all their Huntsmen on the front lines. Aura-enhanced individuals with their own personal shields and years of training on their sides; they seemed like the perfect super soldier. Even if he wasn't comfortable about his friends from Beacon being forced to lead the charge in this war, he'd have thought that they would have been conscripted immediately.

"Of course it would, and as far as I can tell, the council wants to mobilise the whole of the student body. But Ozpin somehow had enough influence to block that motion. Don't ask me how, because I don't know. So now those cowards get to cower behind Beacon's cosy walls whilst the rest of the Kingdom is forced to fight for its life."

"I'm sure they had good reasons to not want to join the army," Jaune argued, suddenly becoming defensive.

"Yeah, sure. Like they were too scared, and it was easier to let normal soldiers fight their battles."

"Well what about your team then?" demanded Jaune. "They're not here either."

At this, Cardin's face darkened, and he stared glumly at the ground. "They would've come," he mumbled. "They would've come if I'd ordered them. If I'd even just asked them, they would have dropped everything and joined me. But they didn't want to go. Not really. I could tell. If they'd come, they would have only done it for me. They might have died for me. I couldn't ask them to do that. I left one day without them knowing. By the time they realised, I was already long gone. It's for the best."

Jaune didn't know why he did it. Cardin didn't deserve it, and he didn't owe him anything. But when Jaune looked at the once-proud paladin before him, now reduced to slumped shoulders and wistful eyes, Jaune felt his heart inexplicably go out to the taller boy.

"We've both lost our teams," he told him, and somehow, that little bridge of empathy seemed to bring comfort to Cardin.

"Jaune…" he began uncomfortably. "What I did to your team, I… I've had a lot of time to think about it and—"

"Staff Sergeant Winchester!" a voice called. Cardin snapped his head to the side, tracking a lone soldier as he raced to catch up to them. When he eventually did, he gasped, "More… more of them… we caught more… around… the base."

Cardin's eyes were hard as granite. "Show me," he commanded. Before he could chase after the soldier though, he noticed Jaune staring at him.

"Staff Sergeant!?" That was the rank directly above Sergeant; how had Cardin been promoted so quickly?

Sometime between whatever meaningful thing Cardin had been going to say and now, he had slipped back into taunting mode as he smirked mockingly at Jaune. "This army needed some officers who knew what they were doing, and when you transfer directly from a Huntsman academy instead of being kicked out of one in shame, your seniors tend to notice you. Got promoted after day one, and I haven't let them down since. Don't feel too bad, Jauney boy. You probably wouldn't know what you were doing in my position anyway." And with that, he spun on his heel and marched after the soldier. Jaune hovered uncertainly, before realising he didn't know where command was, and hurried after Cardin.

Eventually, Cardin reached the perimeter of the base and halted. When Jaune caught up, he saw that Cardin wasn't alone.

"Our sentries spotted them sneaking around the perimeter," said the soldier, indicating a row of Atlas soldiers in front of him, all on their knees and with their hands behind their heads. "We suspect they were performing reconnaissance for the enemy. We were lucky enough to have a returning patrol in the area, otherwise they might have escaped us."

"Have you interrogated them for information yet?" questioned Cardin. The soldier nodded.

"The exact same as all the others. Just their name and rank, nothing else." Cardin's lip curled downwards.

"Tight-lipped bastards. They probably don't even know anything. Your handgun, Private." That familiar feeling in Jaune's stomach twisted uncomfortably at Cardin's words, and even more so when Cardin was handed a pistol and he checked it was loaded. Something was wrong. Cardin raised the gun, then pointed it against the nearest Atlesian soldier's head—

"Stop!" screamed Jaune, his instincts rising up and slashing at his insides. "Cardin, what are you doing!"

Cardin fixed Jaune with a poisonous glare, and in a completely flat voice told him, "Revenge."

"Cardin," gasped Jaune, his face transfixed in horror. "These are people."

"No they're not," growled Cardin. "They're monsters in human skin, every one of them. They started a war for no reason. They're responsible for hundreds of soldiers' deaths, and they're not even close to stopping."

"Cardin, you can't do this," tried Jaune. "They surrendered. They're defenceless prisoners. What about military honour?"

"Military honour," scoffed Cardin. "Where's the military honour in invading a peaceful Kingdom? Where's the honour in ambushing and killing soldiers before they even knew a war was on? Where's the honour in the atrocities these sadists have inflicted?"

"A-atrocities?" Jaune had to ask. Cardin stared at him. Then he released a bitter chuckle.

"You really have been out of the loop. Keep the prisoners here until I get back," he commanded the Valesian soldiers. "Come with me, Arc," he ordered. Jaune uncertainly followed.

Cardin took him to what he supposed was the entrance of this place, and there they got into a jeep and drove out of the base. Jaune wanted to ask where they were going, but Cardin was practically simmering in silent fury as he drove, so Jaune decided to keep his questions to himself.

A few minutes later, Cardin pulled over from the dirt track they'd been driving on, exited the vehicle, and headed into the forest. Jaune hurried after him. Cardin took him deeper and deeper into the woods, striding purposefully in a single direction. Jaune was just about to risk asking where they were going, when the undergrowth suddenly disappeared before him. Jaune came face to face with a clearing too circular to be natural and choked on the words he'd been about to say as he stared at a small village.

Or at least, what was left of it.

Burnt, blackened husks of buildings were all that remained of a once vibrant frontier community. Individual pillars remained reaching tentatively into the sky: a crumbling wall here, a blackened chimney there, mere tombstones to the larger structures they were once a part of. Rubble littered the ground like pebbles, creating a patchwork of burnt wood, scorched stone and warped metal across the streets and pathways that crisscrossed the graveyard of buildings.

Without even realising, Jaune's feet had carried him towards the dead village, mesmerised by the mess of mindless destruction. He walked on dead feet as he navigated around the debris strewn ground, soaking up every horrific detail he could see. A single doorframe was all that was left of one house, opening to a scattering of wooden beams and broken brickwork, a mocking apparition of what once stood there, tall and proud. A single stone building seemed to have survived mostly intact from whatever nightmare heat had scorched this village level. One wall had collapsed inwards, revealing a too silent interior, void of any life. It hadn't been a particularly tall building, but now it seemed to dwarf the surrounding world, a sentinel keeping vigilant watch over the corpses of its friends.

And then Jaune found the first body.

It lay curled up in the street, a charred foetus weakly hugging itself as the breeze softly played with it, rocking the corpse back and forth ever so slightly. In another world it may have been mistaken for a toy, so indiscernible were any of its features. Jaune couldn't even make out its face. He hated how relieved that made him feel.

From there it wasn't hard to find the others. How Jaune had missed them he had no idea. But now that he was looking for them, they were everywhere. Hidden under piles of masonry. Slumped over remnants of furniture. Lying in the street, caught half way between fleeing and screaming as whatever fire had done this overtook them and reduced their forms to ash.

And then Cardin was there, staring grimly at the devastation around him. Jaune's voice was weak, his mind numb at the death all around him as he asked, "What happened?"

"On the first day of the invasion Atlas bombed this place to rubble," Cardin ground out. "It was an aerial attack. The residents didn't even get any warning before Atlas razed this place to the ground."

"Why?" Jaune begged. "Why do this? What purpose does it serve?"

"Some people say it was faulty intelligence on their behalf, but you don't confuse a village for a military base. These bastards did this intentionally. For what reason, I don't know."

Jaune said nothing more as he and Cardin return to the jeep. He stared as long as he could at the ruined village, the place where so many lives had been needlessly snuffed out, and tried to commit every detail to memory. There was nothing he could do for the lives that had been lost except remember them. It wasn't enough, he knew. Not even close to enough. But it was something.

The afterimage was still burning hot in Jaune's mind when Cardin pulled over again a little later and got out. With a shock, Jaune realised they weren't back at the base. He followed Cardin apprehensively.

Jaune soon realised he was being taken to another part of what he supposed was the front line. A latticework of trenches sliced the earth, reinforced with corrugated metal walls and watched over by regularly placed command centres: little more than sandbag-reinforced indents into the earth. Cardin approached one of them, and a soldier came out. They exchanged a few words, before the soldier pointed along the line of trenches and Cardin nodded, setting off parallel to the deep scratches in the ground.

Eventually, he reached a squat wooden hut a little behind the trenches and went inside. Jaune followed.

The moment Jaune ducked into the dim interior, he instantly gagged and flung a sleeve over his mouth and nose. God, what was that smell? It was a putrid combination of reeking blood and rotting flesh that rammed up his nose and choked his breath. It reminded Jaune for a brief moment of a slaughterhouse he'd once made the mistake of visiting, but far worse, a sick and twisted combination of decay and death mingling in the air. The stench was overpowering, clogging his lungs and making his eyes burn.

Then his eyes adjusted to the low light, and they watered for a completely different reason.

Because lying stretched out on the ground inside the shack, head to toe and toe to head, were corpses. Discernibly human this time. Their throats were gruesomely slashed open with a cut too identical on each carcass to be the work of humans. Their eyes were open in shock, staring unseeingly at the inhuman apparition that had murdered them all. Flies buzzed incessantly around the bodies, so thick they choked the air.

This time Cardin didn't wait for a question from Jaune before explaining the horror he was seeing. "In the middle of the night a death squad of robots killed the sentries and snuck into a part of the line. They killed everyone posted there. After waking them up," he added, indicating the same stunned expression on the corpses' faces. "The icy pricks didn't even have the stomach to do it themselves."

"Why?" gasped Jaune, fearing if he opened his mouth to speak any more than the single word he'd puke.

"To send a message," spat Cardin. "To try to scare us into submission. They didn't even try breaking the line. Just slaughtered the soldiers who manned it. These are the murderers you're defending."

Jaune wanted nothing more than to escape this suffocating space, but he couldn't stop staring at the men and women lying on the floor. All this mindless death, just to send a message? Who would do such a thing?

When Cardin finally took Jaune back outside, he greedily gasped down gulps of fresh air, but somehow it still tasted tainted with the reek of spilled blood, the stink of too cold corpses, the stench of rotten dreams and lost hope. The smell of death.

Jaune put a finger to his face, shocked when it came back wet. Why was he crying? He didn't even know the people who'd died. Did that make it better or worse?

The next few minutes past in a blur; Cardin taking him back along the front lines, getting into the jeep, driving away at last, the putrid stench of death following him all the way.

Eventually though, Jaune's mind was torn from the endless reel of unseeing faces as Cardin pulled the jeep over a third time and sat fuming. In a meek voice, not really wanting to know the answer, Jaune asked, "Why are we he—"

"Look," snapped Cardin, and for the first time, Jaune really did. Not left or right along the dirt track, or even into the gloomy forest ahead or behind. But up at the bodies hanging from the trees, slowly swinging in the afternoon breeze.

Jaune recoiled in horror. He tried to scramble backwards, only to be trapped by the hard back of his seat. His stomach roiled, and this time the vomit finally came, spewing forth over the sides of the car as his body retched and convulsed. Jaune's whole body trembled as he hoped, begged, prayed that he was wrong about what he'd just seen, that this was some sort of grotesque illusion, or just a trick of the setting sun. But Cardin's grim face and stony eyes told Jaune that he wasn't the only to see this image.

Jaune tried to keep his head down, but his treacherous eyes trailed upwards once more, unable to tear themselves away for long from the monstrosity that hung mere meters above his head.

Jaune bit back on the acrid taste of vomit as his eyes roved over the hovering bodies. There was a dozen of them, strung up over half a dozen branches, their combats dyed red and their necks puffy and purple from the thick rope which suspended them from the tree. Their stomachs had shallow gashes in them, bloody and raw, as if a butcher's knife had been carelessly swung into them, revealing their purple entrails to the elements. Blood dripped irregularly from the ghastly wounds, the _drip, drip, drip_ , punctuating the too silent forest around them, as if the horror of what had occurred were squeezing the life out of nature and sending its animals scurrying for shelter. Along the branches of the tree a murder of crows kept vigil, hopping around and over the grotesque bodies, their beady eyes bearing into Jaune's as they cawed ominously.

"We sent this section out on a reconnaissance patrol two days ago," growled Cardin, his voice brittle and rough. "We found them here this morning. We haven't even had the time to cut them down. This is the honour the frozen bastards give our men." Cardin indicated the hanging soldiers.

Jaune was still staring at the sickening sight when Cardin put the jeep in reverse and turned them around, heading back along the dirt track. Finally satisfied that Jaune had seen enough, Cardin drove them back to the base. Before Jaune knew it, they were back where they'd started, standing over the Atlesian prisoners who, true to Cardin's command, hadn't moved an inch.

Finally, Cardin spun to face him. "Now you understand. These are the things we're up against. This is what we face. What did you think we were doing all this time while you were off prancing around the forest? Having picnics and tea parties?

"I… I didn—"

"Did you think this was a game? Did you imagine there would be no stakes? That innocents wouldn't be walked all over by an invading force with no morals?"

"Cardin, I don—"

"Well sorry to break it to you, Jauney boy, but this is the real world," spat Cardin. "This is war. Innocent people have died because of these pricks, and you're defending their murderers. You might as well be spitting on their graves."

"I'm not defending th—"

"No?" demanded Cardin. "Then prove it."

"What do yo—Oooff!" Jaune suddenly found the wind punched out of his lungs as Cardin's handgun was thrust into his chest.

"You've seen what these monsters have done," Cardin hissed, his face inches from Jaune's ear. "You know how much they deserve to suffer. The punishment of their crimes is death, and you're going to be the one to do it, Jauney boy." Cardin stepped back, sweeping an arm wide like a ringmaster revealing his circus act, except these actors were bound prisoners, and their act was to die.

Jaune took the weapon in shaky hands, feeling the cold bite of the metal against his palm.

What Atlas had done, the sickening tortures they'd inflicted on civilian and soldier alike… wasn't death only fair? Was it not justice?

Jaune slid the clip out of the gun, checking how many bullets were in it. Nine. The exact number of prisoners on the ground. Jaune's stomach flipped.

This was war, he tried to remind himself. Not some gentlemen's sport. People fought dirty. People died. People had died. And it was all because of Atlas. Atlas, who these prisoners had willingly fought for. Who had gone along with their invasion of a peaceful Kingdom, knowing innocents would be killed. Even if they hadn't been the ones to hang those Valesian soldiers, they may as well have prepared the rope.

Jaune raised the gun, the weight of it somehow trebling in the time it took to lift it. He pointed it at the first prisoner, the man's eyes going wide with terror. Real, human terror. The gun in Jaune's hands shook. It dipped, then rose again, then twisted to the side, somehow unable to focus on the imploring prisoner in front of him. The imploring person.

He looked at the prisoners again and tried to relate these faces to the monsters who had brought such devastation to Vale. Tried to convince himself that the savages who had hanged and cut open Valesian men and women like pigs were these men before him. Tried to trick himself into believing these weren't people, like Cardin had done.

He couldn't do it.

When he looked into their faces, he didn't see monsters. He saw people. Bad people, maybe. People who had done some terrible things, had made some terrible mistakes. But people nonetheless. Human beings like himself. No one deserved to be murdered in cold blood, no matter what they'd done.

The arm holding the gun fell to Jaune's side. "No," he whispered.

"What?" demanded Cardin.

"I can't do this."

Cardin's lip downturned into a snarl. "Pathetic. Fine then." Cardin snatched the gun from Jaune hands and turned it on the prisoners. "I'll do it myself."

"No, Cardin wait!" begged Jaune. "Don't do this, please. This isn't right."

"None of this is right, Arc!" spat Cardin. "Do you think it was right for these pigs to slaughter our men in their sleep? Do you think it was right for them to bomb that village to rumble without a care for who was inside of it? Do you think it was right for them to butcher our men and string them up like carrion food? We don't have a choice. _I_ don't have a choice. This is war. There's no place for morality on a battlefield."

Jaune was stunned into silence by the sheer ferocity of the words Cardin had spat at him. So much so that the only thing he could say to the taller boy was, "We always have a choice, Cardin."

Cardin paused, staring at the pistol in his hand. He breathed in deeply, and when he let the breath go it came out ragged and uneven. "I knew those men," he growled. Jaune stared at him. "I knew the ones they hanged. They were under my command. My protection. They were my responsibility. And I sent them out on that patrol. Straight into Atlas' hands. Command didn't blame me. They said I couldn't have foreseen the consequences of my actions. That I made the right call with the information I had. But I know. Deep down I know." Cardin's eyes met Jaune's dead on. "I sent them to their deaths."

That was sadness. Real, raw, gut-wrenching sadness in Cardin's eyes. And guilt. A guilt that bled into an anger Cardin couldn't bottle up. An anger that had to be directed at someone, anyone. Because if it wasn't, it might just turn internal. And Jaune knew what that felt like. To hate yourself. What you'd done. Knew that Cardin needed to release his wave of frustration on these prisoners, and even on Jaune. Because deep down, he was afraid of hating himself.

"If it had been your section hanging from those trees," said Cardin, "what would you do?"

Jaune saw it. In an instant, every nightmare he'd had of losing his section was projected onto the scenes he'd witnessed today. He saw Naomi hanging from a tree, her blue hair matching her blue lips as her too cold body swung gently in the breeze. He saw Cat hanging next to her, her defiant eyes plucked out by crows, leaving nothing but gaping holes to stare defeatedly at the world. He saw Bounty, his large gut slashed open, his intestines slipping out as faceless soldiers repeatedly drove knives through his stomach. He saw Terry, his eyes wide in shock, his pale face turned bone white as his lifeforce bled through the slit in his throat. He saw Phil, curled into a foetal position, charred black and indistinguishable from any other body in that graveyard village except for the tuff of black hair still visible and a speck of dull red armour just discernible though the soot. He saw Finn, lying in a ditch, his back riddled with holes, his leaking blood staining the dirt red.

Cardin saw all this flash across Jaune's face as he said, "Good," and raised his handgun once more to point at a prisoner. It was a short, young man, barely older than Jaune himself, but his round, childish face made him look younger. He stared fearfully at the gun in front of him, and his bottom lip trembled. When Jaune looked at this kid, he didn't see a monster. Or an enemy. Or even a soldier. He saw… he saw…

Buzz.

The boy Jaune had let die, who had looked so similar to this man despite the continents that had separated them. The boy whose death had almost torn his sister apart. The boy who had died, not because of Atlas soldiers, or bandits, or other people. But because of the Grimm. The true monsters. The ones who didn't care for race or nationality or Faunus versus human. The ones who killed indiscriminately, man, woman and child.

The real enemy. And the ones who might be orchestrating this whole war, turning ally against ally and man against fellow man. The ones who were truly responsible for all the deaths.

Was Jaune about to let them kill another person, like he'd let them kill Buzz?

"Cardin, don't," he begged. "Don't become the monster you claim they are."

Cardin gritted his teeth together so hard Jaune feared they'd shatter. His breathing deepened, increasing in rate, as if he were feeling his anger build and build inside of him. Then he suddenly roared and rounded on Jaune, stalking up to him, his entire body shaking with barely restrained fury. "Don't you _dare_ sit there and tell me what's right and wrong, as if you're some kind of saint. What the _hell_ do you know? You've been here less than a day and have seen just a handful of strangers dead at the hands of these barbarians. I've been here weeks. I've had to overwatch men and women I knew get cut down from the trees they hanged from. I've had to write reports to my seniors, listing the men under my command who've been tortured and killed. What right do you have to just march in here and start telling me what I should be doing, like some self-righteous prophet?" Cardin by this stage had advanced on Jaune, close enough that the spittle which flew from Cardin's mouth hit Jaune. Jaune had never, in his entire time at Beacon, seen Cardin so livid, but he didn't back down from the bully.

"We shouldn't stoop to their level," Jaune argue. "We're better than they are."

"No," growled Cardin. "I'm not. And I give you a week before you aren't either." He turned and stomped back to line of prisoners, shoving the barrel of his weapon into the back of the young man's head. Jaune flinched, but still Cardin hesitated. He growled, his finger wrapping around the trigger. But still he didn't shoot. Couldn't.

Tentatively, Jaune said, "You trained to be a Huntsman to protect people, Cardin. You can still do the right thing. You can still be a good guy."

Cardin seemed to mentally wrestle with what Jaune had said, his face contorting as he struggled with that notion. But then he shook his head. "There are no good guys in war," he muttered. Then he pulled the trigger.

Jaune squeezed his eyes shut just before the weapon went off, but still the sound jarred his bones and grated his ears. He felt hot tears forming underneath his eyelids. He'd failed. He'd failed to save the poor Atlas soldier. And he'd failed to save Cardin's soul.

"Damn you, Arc, for making me the villain."

Jaune opened his eyes. The smoking barrel of the handgun rested on top of the Atlesian boy's head, who's entire body was clenched as tight as a cocked gun. But slowly, as the man realised he wasn't dead, he opened his eyes, and when he realised that he could still see he gasped in relief, joyous tears flooding his eyes as he experienced the beautiful sensations he'd thought he'd never feel again. Jaune stared at Cardin. Cardin's eyes were baleful, a new level of distain and anger directed at Jaune. But among that, hidden deep behind the folds of hate Cardin was careful to lay in its way, the slightest hint of relief twinkled. Jaune didn't comment on it.

"Get these prisoners somewhere secure," Cardin growled. "Command wants you," he snapped to Jaune. "You can find your own way there."

* * *

 **I did warn you guys. Ok, that was a depressingly dark chapter. This fic has never exactly been Universal (I did murder a 16 year old kid after all) but this is definitely a dark chapter, even for me. Why did I write it? It wasn't just for some cheap shocks. I wanted to make it absolutely clear that this fic doesn't condone war (quite the opposite), and I wanted to add an element of just how horrific war can be. There are real stakes to this story. If Jaune and co can't find a way to stop this war, innocent people are going to die. Innocent people _are_ dying, and every day this conflict continues more and more are suffering because of it. If that isn't a good motivation to want to stop it, I don't know what is. The scenes Jaune was shown this chapter are intended to both prove that he is a good guy (choosing to take the moral ground over Cardin and not to give in to revenge) and also to act as the driving force for Jaune over the last arc (no pun intended) of this story. **

**I wish I could say that I made up all these scenes this chapter, and whilst that's partially true, unfortunately I took a scary amount of inspiration from the real world. During WW2, Britain decided to follow a strategic bombing strategy which leveled German cities and killed thousands, most infamously the firebombing of Desden, which killed anywhere from 35,000 to 135,000 civilians, done just years after Britain itself had suffered from its cities being bombed in the Blitz. D** **uring the Normandy campaign after D-day, next to no German SS troops were taken captive, partially because they were fanatical soldiers who often fought to the death rather than surrendering, but also because Allied soldiers who captured them often just executed them on the spot. During this time both sides were also known to have hanged captured enemy soldiers, often in revenge attacks. The sad truth is, war often turns even the best of men into monsters. I wanted to capture some of that in this fanfic.**

 **Although, it should be noted that there is more to this than is meeting the eye. It may look like Atlas is committing war atrocities, and then Vale is responding in kind, but don't forget we're only seeing it from Vale's perspective...**


	19. Chapter 19 - Friends in Low Places

**I'm back hombres! And I'm over the moon to tell you that my GCSEs are _finally_ over. I had to take a break from fanfiction to focus on my last few these past few weeks, hence why I didn't release a new chapter last fortnight, but thankfully that's all done and I can now focus more of my time on this story. Thanks for your patience with me these last few weeks!**

* * *

" _I have seen war. I have seen war on land and sea. I have seen blood running from the wounded. I have seen men coughing out their gassed lungs. I have seen the dead in the mud. I have seen cities destroyed. I have seen 200 limping, exhausted men come out of line—the survivors of a regiment of 1,000 that went forward 48 hours before. I have seen children starving. I have seen the agony of mothers and wives. I hate war"_

 _President Franklin D. Roosevelt_

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen—Friends in Low Places**

It took at least another half hour for Jaune to finally find the command centre. It was completely indistinguishable from every other underground bunker except for the two guards who stood outside it. It was only because of them that Jaune managed to find it at all. One of them took him inside, then led him through a long, fluorescent lamp-lit hallway, before finally coming to a halt outside an open door at the furthest end of the corridor. Jaune ducked inside.

The interior looked remarkedly similar to a regular study: a large oaken desk dominated the centre of the room, weighed down by pristine piles of neatly trimmed paper; maps adorned the concrete walls, displaying Vale and its surrounding territories from every altitude; there was even a smart rug draped across the floor, perhaps in an attempt to make what was effectively a cube cut out of concrete a little more comfortable.

"You are?" questioned a sturdily built man behind the desk. He had a crown of white hair atop his head and wrinkles forming around his eyes, but far from looking old and wizened this man seemed able to dominate the room with just his presence as he rose to his remarkable full height. His hard gaze demanded compliance as it bore into Jaune's eyes.

"Sergeant Arc of Beta section, reporting for duty, sir." Jaune gave a crisp salute to the man, noticing the rank slide on his uniform that marked him as a colonel. The uniform in question was smart and crisp, more ornamental than pragmatic like Jaune's camouflaged combats, and it weighed heavy with the plethora of shining medals that adorned it. "My section and I just arrived here. I have some important intel I think you should know," he began. "Sir, I know this may sound hard to be—"

"One moment," interrupted the colonel, raising a single deft finger to silence Jaune. "Beta section, Beta section," he muttered to himself, his deft fingers shuffling bits of paper around his heavily-laden desk in front of him.

"Uh, sir, I think you'll want to hear thi—"

"Whatever it is, it can wait until I've found the correct papers," and something about the firmness in the man's voice had Jaune shutting up, as if he were a schoolboy getting a telling off from a teacher.

The colonel finally found the sheet he wanted, pulling it out and studying it for a moment, before stating, "Intel claims your section went MIA weeks ago." Missing in action. That was one way to put it.

"We were, sir. Atlas ambushed us on a training exercise when the invasion began, and we were forced to flee. We've been trying to get back to our lines ever since."

The man hummed, going back to flit over the neatly typed writing on his sheet. His eyes halted at something, then narrowed. "It says here Sergeant Cole is leading Beta section. Where is he?"

"Sergeant Cole…" Jaune closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing the lump in his throat as he pictured the bear of a man who had been Jaune's previous commanding officer. Who had taught Jaune everything he knew about the army, and what it was to be a leader. Who had ended up giving up his life for Jaune's. "He didn't make it out of the ambush, sir," he finished tightly.

A beat passed in silence. The colonel sighed, then pulled out a pencil and made a thin line through something on his sheet. "Another good soldier lost to this damn war," he muttered. "I'll make sure a telegram is sent to his family." His family. Jaune started. He hadn't even realised. It had never even occurred to him that Sergeant Cole might have had a family back home, waiting for a man who would never return.

The man continued. "I know this may be hard, but can you name any other men you lost?"

Jaune took in a ragged breath. "Corporal Ash and… and Buzz. Private Buzz Victorian." The man made two more crosses on his sheet. He set it down, then pulled a hand through his hair. For the first time this meeting, Jaune caught a glimpse of the old man beneath the soldier, wearied beyond his time by what he had to burden. But then it was gone, and the man's face was weathered granite as he turned back to Jaune.

"Your determination in getting back to our lines is commendable. I'll even see about getting you and your squad some medals for your drive."

"That you, sir," replied Jaune, and he meant it. He didn't care about the medals much, but he knew that Terry would be over the moon. He'd been trying to pick up a souvenir to prove his military success to his father for a while now.

"Now," continued the man, leaning back, "about this intel of yours."

Jaune started. Of course, the information he'd received on the airship. The whole reason for visiting command in the first place. "Sir, I know you may find this hard to believe, but…" Jaune took a deep breath, "Atlas is about to attack Vale."

"They've already attacked Vale," pointed out the older man.

"I mean the city of Vale, not the outer territories. And I know it's going to happen soon." If Jaune had expected shock from the colonel at his revelation, he was disappointed. If he had expected the man to laugh his suggestion straight out of hand, he was also sorely mistaken. Instead the man simply sat back in his chair and stared long and hard at Jaune. Jaune stared back, trying to convey the truth through his look."

Eventually, the man said, very slowly, very cautiously, "Where did you get this intel from?"

"My section and I intercepted a transmission going to an Atlesian general's ship. It came from, uh…" Jaune suddenly realised how ridiculous it would sound to mention the Grimm lady. The man would laugh in his face if he tried to tell him about… her. Hell, he barely believed it himself, and he had seen her first hand. Only her bone chilling promise prevented him from brushing it off as some nightmare. So instead he simply said, "It gave the order to invade Vale as soon as their men were ready."

Once more the man sat back and considered Jaune's words, before asking, "How did you get this transmission?"

"We, uh, we kind of stole the general's ship." That at least merited a raised eyebrow from the colonel. "It's a long story," said Jaune by way of an explanation. The colonel mulled over Jaune's words for a moment more, before letting out a sigh.

"Look, son, I believe you're serious about receiving this message—"

"So you'll warn Vale?" The man held up his hand for silence.

"However, you've also been out of the loop for a lot longer, so let me fill you in. An invasion into the city of Vale is impossible."

"How can you be sure?" Jaune demanded. "What if they really are about to hit Vale?"

"Then they'll lose," stated the man. "It's that simple. They can't break the line with us still stubbornly holding on, and an air assault is nothing short of suicide. Vale is protected by enough anti-aircraft guns to take down half their fleet. Atlas wouldn't risk wrecking their precious navy on such a risky offensive."

"But… but I heard—"

"I don't doubt you when you say that you did, soldier, but believe me when I say that was a hoax. A trick to throw off our intelligence by flooding us with false reports."

"A… a hoax? Are you sure?"

The man's features softened marginally. "I understand your apprehension, soldier, and you did the right thing by bringing this information to me. But you're clearly new to the army. No commander would risk attacking Vale at this point. They'd lose too many men and too much equipment trying. Atlas wants something out of this war, and although I'll be damned if I know what, it certainly isn't a slaughter. Their best option is to outlast us in a war of attrition. Don't worry, soldier, Vale is safe for now."

Jaune stared at the man, trying to slot what he was saying into his understanding of things. Was the transmission really nothing more than a simple trick? It couldn't be. The Grimm lady, how she'd looked; that must have been real, right? You couldn't just fake… that…

Actually, now that Jaune thought about it, you definitely could. Just a little bit of makeup and some contact lenses and voila: you had yourself one monster lady. And everything she'd said to him, the bone-chilling promise she'd made… had that all be simply to throw him off so that he wouldn't question whether the call was genuine or not?

Jaune could have debated with himself for hours more, but then the colonel moved the subject on, and Jaune was forced to shelve his thoughts for later. At the very least, the colonel was right about one thing: Vale wouldn't be invaded anytime soon. Jaune didn't know the exact logistics of an army, but he knew getting men into position for an all-out attack would take time. A couple of days at least. And even if that did happen, the colonel had told Jaune Vale was protected by anti-aircraft guns. They wouldn't be able to get through that.

Would they?

* * *

Half an hour after being dismissed from the command bunker, Jaune was still mulling over his conversation with the colonel. The colonel had dumped an entire payload of information onto Jaune, and his mind was still reeling from everything he'd learnt. But try as he might, he couldn't make heads or tails of most of it. There was still so much that didn't make sense about the whole situation.

For a start, Vale still had no clue why Atlas had invaded. One day it had been business as usual; the next, what the colonel had called I-Day—Invasion Day—Atlas had entered Valesian airspace unannounced and had started to strike military installations. Jaune supposed that was where his section's misadventure had stemmed from: they'd been one of the unlucky soldiers to be present at a base Atlas had targeted. After that first day when the Valesian military had been in such disarray, it was an absolute miracle the city hadn't been taken then and there. In fact, it was more than a miracle. It was… unbelievable.

The colonel had explained that just as Atlas had come within striking distance of Vale, they'd been ordered to halt. The reason for this move still baffled the military commanders. And Jaune. Why would an army which was so close to finishing its campaign so soon suddenly pull back? It wasn't like they were too weak to take the city; Vale had barely put a scratch on their fleet. But all of a sudden Atlas had halted their attack. By the time they tried to push again, Vale had been equipped with a vast array of anti-aircraft defences, and the Valesian military had been able to regroup and form a line. It just didn't make sense to Jaune. The most common theory for the tactical error seemed to be faulty intelligence, but Jaune wasn't entirely convinced. Surely their intel couldn't have been that wrong.

Puzzles within puzzles. It made Jaune's head spin just thinking about it. He needed a break from it all. He absentmindedly put his hand to his chest, feeling for the familiar bit of fabric that was his rank slide—

Oh. Right.

Jaune's hand dropped back to his side. His fingers itched, a phantom feeling of rough fabric teasing them. He took a deep breath, but not even that seemed to fill the gaping hole he felt in the middle of his chest. Or rather, the front of his chest. Because on the front of his uniform, right where his sergeant rank slide should have been, was nothing.

The colonel hadn't been unkind when, just as their meeting had been coming to a close, he'd asked for the rank slide back. He'd even seemed apologetic when he'd explained that ranks weren't simply handed over from one officer to another. When he'd explained that Jaune wasn't a sergeant anymore. The man had even promised to look into getting Jaune a promotion to lance-corporal for his leadership in the field. Just… not sergeant.

It was just the way the army worked, Jaune tried to tell himself. What had he expected to happen? He hadn't earned the rank—not really. Not the way he was supposed to. Sergeant Cole had simply given it to him in the field. That wasn't the way promotions worked.

Why then had it been so hard to part with the blood-crusted slide?

Maybe because it was the only part of Sergeant Cole he had left. Maybe because that little rectangle had made him feel, for just a moment, like he'd deserved to be a leader again. Or maybe because, without a Commanding Officer, Beta section were being put under the command of a recently available Field Sergeant.

Cardin Winchester.

As of tomorrow, at oh six hundred hours, Beta section would be being shipped off to the front lines with their new CO. What it would be like to have to obey orders from Cardin Winchester… Jaune wasn't quite ready to face that yet. But for the rest of the evening at least, they were free to do as they pleased.

Which meant that Jaune had one more thing he needed to do. One more task he was stalling.

Just as Jaune had been leaving the colonel's office, a thought had flashed through his mind. He'd turned back and asked the colonel one, simple question.

Where was the nearest phone he could use?

The colonel had disclosed its location, but not before he'd impressed upon Jaune the necessity of the utmost discretion during whatever call he made. He wasn't allowed to give any indication of where he was, what he was doing, or what shape the Valesian military was in. Not that Jaune knew any of that of course, but that hadn't stopped the colonel from grilling him for a good five minutes on it.

And now he was here, staring at a little camo-green box with an old-fashioned handset on the top. Jaune had only ever seen anything like it in movies set in the past, but apparently it was the only secure line in the base that could communicate with scrolls. Ever since Atlas had invaded, Vale had switched off their CCT tower, probably figuring that Atlas would have a harder time communicating long distance than Vale would locally. Fortunately, they'd reintroduced local wireless transmissions, meaning people could communicate within the Kingdom. Exactly where Jaune wanted his call to go.

With fingers that refused to stop trembling, Jaune dialled a memorised number. The phone rang once. Jaune held his breath. Twice. Three times. Jaune almost lost his confidence at four but managed to clamp his hand to the side of his head. He could do this. He had to. Five times. Six. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Maybe he should call back late—

"Hello?" said a voice like an Autumn breeze through the green grass, and Jaune's heart stopped dead in his chest. It was a voice he hadn't heard in such a long time he'd almost begun to forget it. A voice whose every syllable was as soft as the pitter patter of falling rain, as warm as a cup of hot chocolate, as sweet as runny honey. A voice he'd once taken for granted, only realising its preciousness once he'd lost it.

Pyrrha.

He opened his mouth to speak—only for a wisp of air to wheeze out of his lungs, mercifully inaudible. What was he supposed to say? What could he say? He hadn't spoken to Pyrrha since before he'd thrown a jar of sap at her. What if she hated him? What if she didn't want to talk to him?

"Hello?" Pyrrha asked again, confusion and just a hint of impatience tinging her voice.

Jaune tried to speak again but once more his treacherous throat clogged up, choking the words he tried to say before they could even reach his lips. He felt his chest cave inwards, felt his lungs collapsing. He couldn't draw breath. He was suffocating. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn—

"Hello?" Pyrrha questioned a final time, her voice edged now with suspicion. Jaune knew what would happen as if he were watching it through a fog-encased window. Pyrrha would assume this was a misdial or a prank call. She would take one final look at the number and, not recognizing it, would hang up and forget all about this moment. Jaune was about to miss his only chance to speak to her. To apologise for what he'd done. He was about to lose Pyrrha a second time—

"Pyrrha." The words were a hiss of escaping breath.

Silence.

Then, "Jaune?"

* * *

Pyrrha Nikos, warrior Huntress in training, Mistral's regional fighting champion and Beacon's invincible girl, had never felt more unhappy. She trudged her way down Beacon's dispirited hallways towards her dorm room, her mind enveloped by depressing thoughts. She bumped into someone along the way and barely even noticed, mumbling a half-hearted apology at the other student. Their response was even less committed, little more than a grunt of acknowledgement before they'd moved on. Pyrrha was inclined to do the same.

These past few weeks had been hard for Pyrrha. To be fair, they'd been hard on everyone: ever since the war began, Beacon wasn't filled with as much laughter as there used to be. The teachers were subdued, the students dejected. Even little Ruby Rose had been struggling to see the good in their situation. But still, Pyrrha couldn't help but feel like her lot was… well… a lot worse. News of the war had hit everyone hard, but at least most of the other students had had a full team to confide with. At least they were still a full family. But team JNPR…

She hastily shook away the haunted memories that tried to claw their way back into her mind. She wasn't the only one suffering, she scolded herself. Some had it much worse than her and yet they weren't complaining. Even if she had lost her partner, at least she wasn't… well, Weiss.

Weiss Schnee, the school's resident Atlas citizen. And when it had become clear that Atlas had invaded Vale…

It hadn't been pretty. It had started off as a few pointed glares, the sudden absence of anyone near where she sat in the cafeteria, the hushed quiet that fell over any room she walked into. Then it had gotten worse. Much worse. Comments previously whispered behind her back became hissed insults as she walked by. Students would turn their back on her as she passed, or else sneer cruelly in her direction. A couple of times a sudden spitball or globule of food had mysteriously found its way into her hair or onto her clothes to subtle (or not so subtle) sniggers from nearby.

Weiss had faced it all with her head held high and her back straight, refusing to let herself be demeaned by those around her. But behind closed doors, Pyrrha knew from Weiss' teammates how hard she was taking things; not just the abuse, but with how her own Kingdom had invaded a peaceful neighbour in an act of unprovoked aggression. Worse, it seemed that even her own father had had a hand in the war. A few weeks before it all broke out, Jacques Schnee had tried to convince her to return home to Atlas. Weiss had refused, thinking her father was attempting to steal back whatever vestige of freedom she had fought so hard to attain. Now it seemed clear that he'd wanted her out because he knew about the invasion.

Even though she knew she shouldn't, Pyrrha couldn't help but dislike the man.

Team RWBY and what was left of JNPR did their best to help Weiss out: forming a protective ring around her as she walked around campus, sitting with her at lunch when no one else would, trying to support her when she was down. But whilst they could dissuade an outright attack on Weiss, they could do nothing against the taunts and the jibes that ceaselessly rained on Weiss day after day after day. Nothing but tell her to ignore them, ignore them, they didn't know anything, just ignore them. But there was only so much someone could ignore the same old insults before they began to wonder if there might be some truth to them. Pyrrha knew that all too well. Though her fighting carrier had earned her a lifetime of praise, with any amount of fame always came the hate. And though Pyrrha had always tried to focus on the people who loved her for what she did and ignore those who didn't, she knew how easy it was to fall into that whirlpool of negativity if she dwelt on it for too long. That was why, although she'd previously been sceptical of Weiss' true intentions when she'd first offered to join a team with Pyrrha, her heart now went out to the pale girl who had to suffer so much misdirected malice simply because of events utterly out of her control.

Pyrrha reached her dorm at last, noticing Ren and Nora already inside. "Hey Pyr," mumbled Nora, her usually chipper voice despondent. Ren's greeting was even less enthusiastic, little more than a nod in her direction before he went back to cleaning StormFlower, his movements slow and lifeless.

Pyrrha sighed. Both her teammates had been badly affected when Jaune had up and left them. It seemed like wherever she went the people she knew had had a dampener put on them, dulling the joy that used to burn so bright in each of her friends. Nora wasn't as energetic as before, as bubbly. Ren had become even more removed, quieter since Jaune's departure, though he at least tried to put on a brave face for the team. Pyrrha felt for them—she really did—but at the same time she couldn't hold back a sliver of envy at the two of them. At least they'd had each other to support themselves when things had gotten rough. Pyrrha hadn't even had a partner to help her. She felt like she'd been adrift for weeks, just slowly letting the current drag her body around. She wasn't sure if she'd ever find her way back to dry land.

She sat down on her bed slowly and put her hands to her face, breathing deeply through them. She sorted through how she'd imagined a life at Beacon would be, how she'd hoped it would go. She'd meet new people, make some friends—friends who wouldn't just see her as the Invincible Girl, or Mistral's Champion. Just as Pyrrha, the ordinary, normal girl like any other. For a moment, it had almost been like that. Almost. Until…

Until Jaune had left. She pressed her hands closer against her face, scrunching her eyes shut against the familiar stinging now pricking her eyelids for release. She'd turned over every single conversation she'd ever had with Jaune, every interaction and passing glance, for even the slightest clue as to why Jaune had abandoned them the way he did. Getting expelled was one thing, but disappearing without so much as a goodbye? Pyrrha replayed the scenes in her head again as hot tears trickled down her cheeks, desperately searching for what she'd done wrong, what she'd said that had made him hate her and the team so much. For that must have been what happened. Why else would Jaune had cut them off so completely unless he despised them so thoroughly that he hadn't even wanted to say goodbye face to face? She'd tried to do the best she could—she really had! She'd tried to be a good teammate and a good partner; she'd even tried to train Jaune to help him improve. But maybe she'd been pushing him away and hadn't even noticed it. Maybe that's what happened when you were so desperate for friends: you couldn't even tell that the people you cared about were slowly hating you.

Her scroll buzzed in her pocket. Once. Twice. Pyrrha ignored it, wondering whether if she ignored everything forever would she finally be able to stop hurting so much? The phone buzzed again. Three times. Four. Pyrrha sighed. It might be her parents calling. She didn't want them to worry about her. She pulled the scroll out of her pocket, quickly wiping the tears that stained her cheeks into hiding from Ren and Nora. She checked the number. Odd: it wasn't one she recognised. The scroll buzzed a fifth and final time, and Pyrrha knew she had to answer it so as to not appear rude. Shoving her emotions back into the deep recess of her mind, she put on her bravest and fakest smile and said into the scroll, "Hello?"

Nothing. Not even a whisper of air was her answer. "Hello?" she tried again. Only silence met her greeting. This was getting ridiculous. Pyrrha could feel the smile on her face slipping off like wet plaster as her patience, once legendarily long, wore thread-thin. She'd try one more time, she decided, then she didn't care who was on the other end, they could take their silence elsewhere. "Hello?" she demanded one final time. Still nothing. Pyrrha gave up, taking the phone from her ear and moving her hand to hang up. Her finger was a centimetre above the end call button when a scratchy voice rasped, "Pyrrha."

Pyrrha froze. That voice. "Jaune?" she asked, unaware she wasn't even breathing anymore.

"Pyrrha," croaked that voice again. Jaune's voice. Jaune.

"Jaune," she gasped, as if she needed to remind herself that this was real, that this was really Jaune, her Jaune. Tears, warm and cleansing rushed down her face, and with each one that dripped onto the bed below her she felt like a million pounds were lifting from her burdened shoulders.

"Jaune?" gasped Nora, overhearing Pyrrha. "Let me talk to him!"

"Nora, don't—Ahh!" Pyrrha suddenly found herself grappling for her scroll against a very determined Nora, intent on snatching it from her hands.

"Jaune!" shouted Nora at the scroll, wresting it closer to herself.

"Nora?" came Jaune's voice through the scroll. Tears immediately glistened in Nora's eyes at the sound of that familiar voice, so much so that for a split-second Nora's ape-like grip loosened, and Pyrrha snatched her scroll back. Nora snapped out of her trance and went for the scroll again, only to have her shoulders yanked back by Ren.

"Renny, it's Jaune," pleaded Nora. "I have to talk to hi—"

"And you will," consoled Ren, squeezing Nora's shoulders in comfort. "But let Pyrrha talk to him first." He nodded at her, and Pyrrha couldn't have thanked him enough as she turned back to her scroll and brought it trembling to her ear again.

"Jaune, where are you? What happened? I thought—"

"I'm sorry," breathed Jaune. Pyrrha faltered.

"Sorry? For what?"

"For everything," hiccupped Jaune. His voice was so broken and raw that Pyrrha felt fresh tear spring from her eyes at the sound of it. "For leaving you. For not calling you or the team. For… for being weak and cowardly and selfish and… and for choosing to save my own stupid hide instead of protecting you…"

"What are you talking about?" she choked, barely able to get the words out for the fountain of emotions that were erupting inside her: joy and sorrow and relief and pain and happiness, intermingling and swirling inside her in a vast vortex of feelings.

"The… that day in the Forest of Forever Fall… when I threw the jar of sap at you… Pyrrha I'm so, so sorry about tha—"

A laugh, explosive and unexpected bubbled its way out of Pyrrha's chest, bursting at the same time a sob wracked her body. "Oh Jaune," she half wept half laughed. "You big, bumbling buffoon. You left because of that? I forgive you."

"You… you do?"

And it was the genuine surprise in Jaune's voice that had Pyrrha exclaiming "Yes! You're my partner. My friend. I could never hate you for something like that, and neither do Ren or Nora." There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. "Jaune?"

"I don't deserve you guys," came the choked reply, and through Jaune's voice alone Pyrrha knew he was crying.

"Don't say that," she chided gently. "We love you Jaune. We always will. We're family, remember?"

"I've been a terrible friend. I wasn't there for you. I should… I should have stayed with you… I shouldn't have abandoned you like I did…"

"Sssh, sssh, it's ok, Jaune. It's alright," soothed Pyrrha. "You're here now. That's enough."

A short paused followed, during which Jaune composed himself before asking, "Is anyone else there?"

"Nora's desperate to talk to you," smiled Pyrrha sadly. "Ren's here too."

"Can… can I talk to them?"

Pyrrha pressed the loudspeaker button on her phone and held it out to Nora and Ren. Nora was on it in an instant, shouting, "Jauney! Jaune! Is that you?"

"It's me Nora," replied Jaune.

"Where have you been?" sobbed Nora. "I missed you."

"Me too Nora. Me too. And I'm… I'm sorry. For everything I put you through. I made a mistake, Nora. I wasn't thinking straight. I was being selfish. I was—"

"I don't care!" shouted Nora.

"W—what?"

"I don't care what you did, or why you did it. You're calling. That's all I care about. We can be a family again."

"I… I'd like that."

"Me too," said Nora, and for the first time in what felt like months, Nora smiled. Not the usual, fake smiles she plastered to her face to try to keep everyone's spirits up, but a genuine, organic smile, not because she was supposed to be chirpy or because she needed to do it for someone else, but just because she was truly happy.

"Ren?" asked Jaune.

"I'm here," answered the quietest member of the team. "It is good to hear from you, Jaune."

"You too, Ren," replied Jaune. "You too."

"When are you coming home?" demanded Nora.

"I…" Jaune hesitated. "I can't. At least not yet."

"What?" gasped Pyrrha. "Why not?"

"There's a war. People are dying every day, and thousand more will join them if Atlas gets through to Vale. I have to fight, to protect the people I love. To protect you guys."

"But… but Atlas can't take Vale, silly," said Nora. "There's no way they'd get through all the defences we now have. We're safe."

"Right… yeah…" Jaune hesitated.

"What is it, Jaune?" asked Ren, immediately picking up on his brief pause.

"It's nothing. It's… well… don't worry about it."

"You know you can tell us anything," said Pyrrha.

"Yeah, we're a team, remember?" declared Nora.

"A problem shared is a problem halved," added Ren.

Jaune said nothing for a moment, as if weighing up whether he should speak or not, but then he said, "I… I don't think Vale is safe."

"What do you mean?" asked Pyrrha, and so Jaune explained. He explained how he and his section had stolen an Atlesian general's airship, told them about the message they'd received whilst on it, and described the woman he'd talked to. All the while Pyrrha sat in shocked silence as she listened to Jaune's tale. Finally, once he'd finished talking, Pyrrha said, "But that… that can't have been real. There's no such thing as a Grimm human."

"Not that we know of," pointed out Ren. "But that doesn't necessarily mean there isn't one. And on the off chance that there is…"

"Then all of Vale is in danger," finished Jaune. Stunned silence descended upon the group as they all tried to process what they'd heard. That there might be some sort of intelligent Grimm who not only existed, but who was also behind the entire invasion of Vale.

"What do you think about this woman, Jaune?" asked Pyrrha diplomatically. "You're the one who talked to her first hand. Do you believe she was really what she seemed?"

"I… my superior officer told me it was nothing; he said I'd been hoaxed."

"Do you agree?"

Silence. Then, "Everything about that situation was so unbelievable, and yet… I believe it. At least my gut does. What she promised me she'd do to my family, to you guys… I've never felt such… _loathing_. Even though she didn't even know me, it was like she despised everything I was. I don't think that could've been faked."

"So if she is real," began Pyrrha cautiously, "then we have to figure out how to stop her."

"Agreed," said Ren. "It is always better to assume the worse and be pleasantly surprised than to underestimate the threat and end up with casualties."

"Oooh! We should go find this Grimm lady and break her legs!" enthused Nora. "That'll teach her to mess with Vale."

"Nora!" chided Pyrrha. "Breaking legs isn't the answer to everything."

"Why not?" pouted Nora. "She deserves it."

"Whilst I do not entirely agree with the sentiment of what Nora is suggesting," cut in Ren, "perhaps she is right in suggesting we take the fight to this… Salem character before she has a chance to destroy Vale."

"Jaune said he was able to trace the call," added Pyrrha excitedly. "We can track her with that, right Jaune?"

Jaune was silent for a long moment, before he finally said, "You guys… I appreciate everything you're trying to do for me but… you can't go after Salem."

"Why not?" demanded Nora. "Someone needs to teach her a lesson."

"No… no, you don't understand. This is like nothing you've ever faced before. This isn't anything like a simple sparing match or a friendly dual. Salem is dangerous, and she will kill you in an instant without hesitation. You guys aren't ready to face her."

"Are you?" questioned Ren.

"It wouldn't be the first time someone's tried to kill me." A frost-coated shiver sliced its way down Pyrrha's back. Not just at what he'd said… but how calmly he'd said it. As if it were a common and accepted fact.

"Jaune," she said quietly. "We know the risks. But we want to help you. You don't have to face this nightmare alone."

"You… you don't understand. I only just got you guys back." A shuddering breath. "Please… I can't lose you again."

"And what about you?" asked Pyrrha softly. "What if we lose you? What if _I_ lose you?"

"I… it will be alright. _You guys_ will be alright without me. You don't need me. No one needs me…"

Pyrrha felt her heart bleeding—actually bleeding—for Jaune, each and every beat sending jarring threads of pain slicing through her chest as every ounce of her being wanted to weep for Jaune. That he thought that way about himself, that he thought they didn't need him, that he somehow wasn't deserving of their love. "Oh Jaune—"

"Don't. Think. That. Way." Pyrrha turned, her mouth falling agape as she beheld Ren—Ren of all people—tensing with restrained anger. "Don't ever think you're expendable. Don't ever think we don't need you, or that you're worth less than us. We do need you." Ren's voice softened. "We're family. And if you're putting yourself in danger, then so are we."

Jaune was silent for a long time, apparently just as shocked by Ren's outburst as Pyrrha had been. Then he said, "Maybe… maybe there is something you guys can help me with."

"Anything," offered Pyrrha.

"If Atlas is about to invade Vale, then the citizens need to be warned. The army won't take this threat seriously, and I doubt the council will either, but people still need to be evacuated somewhere safe, and the defences need to be ready."

"Say no more, Jauney: operation prepare-Vale-for-attack is a go."

"Thank, Nora. And there's something else too. There's one more thing about the transmission from Salem that I haven't figured out. She said something about a breach, and that someone called Cinder was ready to start it."

"A breach?" Ren looked thoughtful. "I have never heard of such a thing. I don't know what that means."

"Neither do I, but… I can't shake the feeling that this is something big. Something to do with the attack on Vale."

"What do you need us to do?" asked Pyrrha.

"I need you to be on your guard. Something big is about to happen in Vale, I know it. I just don't know what. I need you guys to be ready for whatever it is, and to stop it when it happens."

"That's… not a lot to go on," cringed Pyrrha.

"I know, I know. But I need you guys to do this for me. Vale _cannot_ fall. I need you guys to ensure that. I have to go now, someone else wants to phone. Promise me though, you'll protect Vale however you can. Ask the other students for help. Get Ozpin involved if you need. Just be ready for what's coming."

"Don't worry, Jauney," chirped Nora. "You can count on us!"

"What are you going to do?" questioned Pyrrha. Jaune paused. Pyrrha felt her pulse quicken. "You're not going to go after Salem on your own, are you Jaune?"

Jaune gave a brittle chuckle. "No, of course not. I'm going to try to see if I can convince the army of the danger to Vale. I really need to go now. Be careful."

"You too, Jaune," said Pyrrha. And then he was gone.

* * *

Jaune pressed his head against the cool metal of the phone receiver and allowed himself a single moment to close his eyes. No one interrupted him. No one asked to use the phone now that he was done. In fact, there was no one there at all. Just Jaune, alone with the field telephone and his guilt.

Once his moment was up he quickly dialled one other number, giving an update to his family: that he was safe and sound, and that he couldn't come home for a little while yet. Nothing about what he planned to do next. Nothing about how much danger he was about to put himself in.

Once that was done he left, searching for his section. Cardin had been right: if he'd asked his team to help him, they'd have gladly dropped everything and come to his side. But that would have meant leaving behind Beacon and everything they'd ever worked for. He couldn't ask them to do that. Not when this wasn't their fight—not really; they weren't even proper Huntsmen yet. Not when Salem's words still rung through his mind like a death knell at a funeral: to find and kill everyone he cared about. At least in Vale they might still be able to make a difference without throwing their dreams away. And he hadn't been lying about that: Vale really did need protecting from whomever this Cinder person was. But if it kept them much safer than going after Salem, then that was only a bonus.

Besides, Pyrrha had been wrong. He wasn't alone.

Now it was time to do something _really_ stupid.

* * *

 **Boom. Team NPR finally happened people. You happy? This reunion was obviously a long time coming, but many of you may have actually hoped it would go differently. Now, I understand if you were hoping NPR would join Jaune in the field, maybe helping him to win the war and beat Watts, Salem and everyone else, but... I actually don't want them in that position, simply because that's too easy. If Jaune just immediately goes back to team JNPR and it's like nothing has ever happened, then what was the point of the story? How have the characters developed in any meaningful way? No, this story is not about team JNPR; it's about Beta section. Don't get me wrong, NPR will still play their part and I will certainly be writing from their viewpoint at times from now on, so don't worry about that. But I don't think it's time yet for them to get back together with Jaune. Besides, with so many villains just chilling around, it will be impossible for the heroes to beat them all if they're all together. They need to split up, divide and conquer, that kind of thing.**

 **In other news, I actually have some fanart of some of the members of Beta section! Basically Buzz, Naomi, Cat and Aiden were created and gifted to me by an online friend of mine, and she's recently made a deviant art page with facts and pictures of them. There is a slight variation between her characters and the ones that appear in this story (mainly the fact that she made them to be Huntsmen, whilst they're just normal soldiers in this fic). If you guys want to see how they were originally created the link is:**

 **h[tt]ps: / / wolfierocks45 . deviant art . c[om] / journal / 8 - O C - Facts -** **74[66]78[56]4**

 **...without any spaces or square brackets [] (those were just so I could get the URL in because this site doesn't like links). Please do check it out and give your support to someone who has been so unbelievably helpful with this story.**


	20. Chapter 20 - The Last Supper

**Hey guys! I'm writing this from the good ol' U S of A, courtesy of a holiday to this fine country that only recently celebrated its hatred of my country and everything it stands for. That's what 4th of July is about, isn't it? ;)**

* * *

" _The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him"_

 _G.K. Chesterton_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty—The Last Supper**

Salem had to be stopped.

The thought clanged through Jaune like a funeral bell, the sound heralding approaching doom, though whether that be for Salem, Jaune or something else entirely he couldn't tell. He was scared. Of course he was. He was willingly about to walk into the Ursa's lair to take on the embodiment of all evil on Remnant. But his pace didn't once falter, his feet never once tripping. A determination to put an end to that nightmare woman kept his heart from freezing and his limbs from locking. Jaune had seen first-hand what this war had brought to civilians. The bodies in that ghost village Cardin had shown him earlier still swam hauntingly through his mind. If Salem successfully used Atlas to invade Vale, would that be the fate of Vale too? Would the graveyard village become a graveyard Kingdom?

No. It wouldn't. Because Jaune wouldn't let it. Jaune was still in the dark about so much, but one thing was for certain: he had to stop her.

But he couldn't do it alone.

The military base was just settling down for dinner as Jaune picked his way around the mess of emerging tunnel openings that poked their snouts through the ground, looking for his section. The compound did apparently have a mess hall, but with so many troops on site it was unbearably crowded, leaving most people to prefer to take their rations and eat them with their sections outside. Beta section had been one such section to do so, and they now sat a little distance away behind a copse of sheltering trees around a campfire. As Jaune approached the trees surrounding them, an assortment of aromas wafted over to him from the various ration packets that consisted of Beta section's dinner. So too did a chorus of grumbling voices, complaining about the afore mentioned dinner.

"I swear to god, the army is trying to poison us all," moaned Cat, poking at a particularly lumpy meal in her rat pack.

"Man do I miss Jasmine's cooking," muttered Finn glumly as he inspected a spoonful of an as yet unidentified substance.

"The ration packets are designed to contain 100% of one's daily nutritional intake in order to keep one fit and healthy in the field," intoned Naomi.

"Take a bite of this, Nuke," snapped Cat, "and tell me that once you're finished puking your guts up."

Naomi took a bite of her own meal and grimaced. "Well I never said food with a high nutritional value was necessarily palatable."

Jaune smiled. He wasn't quite sure why he did it, but something made him crouch down in the shadows of the trees and simply watch his section as they bickered and bantered. The sun was just setting, bathing Jaune's hiding spot with long shadows and leaving him almost invisible to his section, whilst he still had a perfectly good view of them and their campfire-illuminated features.

"No idea what you lot are complaining about," mumbled Bounty around a mouthful of food, merrily digging into at least two different packs. "This stuff is great!"

"You're shitting me, right?" demanded Cat. "How can you actually like this crap?"

"I think you're forgetting who you're talking to," piped up Finn. "Bounty would eat anything if you dumped it on a plate and called it dinner."

"That's not true!"

"Didn't I see you eat a rock before?" asked Phil.

"For the last time: that was a dare!" exclaimed Bounty. The group laughed good-naturedly at Bounty's exasperation, and more so at his revelation. "What about you, Terrier?" asked Bounty, changing the focus to the lankiest member of their team. "You're our resident military textbook. What's your opinion on the rat packs?"

Terry glanced up from where he'd been staring at his meal, his eyes going wide behind his blond curtains, looking for all the world like a deer caught in the headlights of the monster truck that was Bounty. But then a hesitant grin split his pale face. "I think the person who invented the tuna in light mayonnaise rat pack ought not only to be shot on the spot for crimes against humanity, but also have his name stripped from all history books so as to not taint modern culture with his monstrosity."

"Here, here!" cried Cat, clapping Terry on the back and grinning wildly, though she looked secretly shocked that Terry of all people had said such a thing.

"Heresy!" gasped Bounty, his mouth agape in mock horror. "I _like_ tuna light mayo."

"I think we just found the root of what's wrong with you then," joked Cat, to which the section laughed. Jaune laughed quietly along with them, relieved that Terry had finally begun to be accepted into the group, though also suppressing a shudder at the same time. Tuna light mayo… there were some things man was never meant to utter under the light of day.

"Hey, I just noticed something," said Terry. "Almost all of us here have nicknames, except for you three." He pointed to Cat, Bounty and Aiden. "I'm Terrier, Finn's Flea, Phil's Lightning, Naomi's Nuke. What should your nicknames be?"

"Cat's already a nickname," admitted Cat.

"It is?" asked Naomi, eyebrows raised. "What's your real name?"

"Casey. Casey Wentz."

"Casey…" said Bounty, tasting the name on his lips. Then his face split into a shit-eating grin. "That's a shite name."

"Prick."

"Indeed I am."

"What about you then, hothead? You got a nickname?"

"So you admit I'm hot?" grinned Bounty, one eyebrow raised mischievously.

Cat opened her mouth as if to shut Bounty down, but then she paused, and a seductive smile overtook her features, even as her eyes glinted with the challenge. "Oh sure, baby. You know I'm head over heels for you and that dashing potbelly of yours…"

The reaction of Beta section to this latest development was… mixed to say the least. Some members recoiled in horror at the shameless flirting between Bounty and Cat, whilst others leaned in closer to get a better view of the unfolding spectacle. First among those leaners was none other than Bounty himself, who, not to be outdone, teased, "Oh Cat, I had no idea you were so into middle-aged, overweight men. You should have said…" And in a move Jaune would be unable to bleach from his mind for all the remainder of eternity, Bounty spread his legs wide, then slowly, scandalously brought one leg to rest on top of the other, shamelessly exposing his crotch for an unnecessarily long amount of time and seductively fluttering his eyelashes at Cat.

For what had to be the first, and potentially the last time Jaune would ever witness, Cat was utterly speechless.

Sensing victory was close at hand, Bounty undid the top few buttons of his combat uniform and pulled his shirt underneath down, revealing several inches too much of hairy skin, before leaning alluringly forward so that Cat was exposed to the full length of his bare upper chest. He put his hand to his lips and blew her a seductive kiss, whispering, "Come find me later tonight, baby, and I'll show you what a good time really feels like."

For a moment, Jaune honestly thought Cat would throw up right then and there.

Bounty exploded into laughter, unable to hold in his cackling anymore. The great bellowing sound seemed to snap the rest of Beta section out of their trance, and soon the whole camp was snickering too. Well, everyone except Cat, that was.

Even Aiden couldn't help but chuckle at Bounty's sultry behaviour, and even more so at Cat's ashen face. "I notice you have avoided the original question, Bounty," he pointed out.

Bounty shrugged. "Nothing to avoid. I don't have any nicknames. And you sure as hell ain't giving me one, Terrier," he quickly added, noticing the way Terry's eyes had lit up.

"Is that so?" smirked Naomi. "With a name as pretentious as Bounty, I'd have assumed only someone as bombastic as you would have deigned to be called that. I hadn't realised egomania was hereditary."

"One: I have no idea what half those words mean, and you know it, and two: I'll have you know Bounty's my surname, so joke's on you, smartass."

"What's your real name?" asked Phil.

"That is for me to know, and you to bloody well mind your own business," snapped Bounty.

"Come on, you can tell us," encouraged Terry.

"Not a chance in hell."

"Is it George?"

"Nope."

"Thomas?"

"Not even close."

"Peter, Barry, John, Jasper…"

"I notice Aiden's being quiet," piped up Phil, ignoring Terry as he continued to spout random names at Bounty. "Maybe he's hiding a nickname."

"Aiden's always quiet," pointed out Naomi.

"That's kind of his thing," added Finn.

Phil's face fell. "Well, yeah but, I mean, he still might be hiding something. Like, a secret name he doesn't want to tell us about, y'know?"

"Alas, no. I simply have no nickname," explained Aiden. "For whatever reason Sergeant Cole did not decide to name me, unlike most of you."

Jaune felt the shift. In an instant Terry had fallen silent from listing names, Cat had stopped poking her food to look up at Aiden, and Bounty's grin had been wiped off his face. A dark, sombre atmosphere settled over the group like a smog-choked cloud, smothering their jovialness. Their faces shifted from merry to contemplative at the mention of their former leader, and one by one their smiles slid off their faces.

Jaune closed his eyes and pictured the broad-shouldered, bald soldier, with his clipped moustache and tough exterior, underneath which lay a golden-hearted man who loved nothing better than a good laugh. Sergeant Cole had been the one who had trained them half to death in the initial weeks before the invasion, and who had gotten them out of the initial ambush when Atlas invaded at the cost of his own life. Jaune realised he'd never even been given the proper time to mourn for the brave man who had given his life for Jaune, taking the bullet that had been meant for him. And if he took his section with him to fight Salem… how many more people would he have to add to that list of mourning.

"I… I am sorry if I have ruined the mood by bringing up Sergeant Cole," apologised Aiden.

"Don't be stupid, it… we should have this talk," said Cat wearily, as if knowing this was necessary and yet dreading the memories it would resurface nonetheless. "We've been running for so long we never really had a chance to face what happened on that first day. Face… who we lost."

"Sergeant Cole was a good leader," said Terry, staring unseeingly into the fire. "I would have died a hundred times over if it wasn't for his training."

"Me too," agreed Bounty.

"I never liked him," admitted Finn. Caty shot a glare at him. "But…" he continued, meeting Cat's gaze, "if I ever manage to become even half the man he was, then it'll be because he showed me how to be better." A nod from Cat was the only sign that she accepted his words.

"He was an altruistic leader," said Naomi. "A benevolent one. Not that Jaune isn't, it's just… it's uncommon to find a leader as experienced as him who hasn't become calloused."

"Like Ash," said Aiden quietly. Silence descended on the group again.

"I've heard of professional Huntsmen losing their entire teams before," began Phil. "Most of them snapped. Or just given up. That Ash was able to keep going, keep moving forward even after he'd lost his entire section…"

"He was a stronger man than any of us," nodded Aiden.

"He hated us," declared Finn.

A dry chuckle from Cat. "He most certainly did. Grumpy old bugger."

"Biggest cynic I've ever met," agreed Bounty.

"That didn't stop him from sacrificing himself so we could survive the ambush," Terry reminded them.

"I doubt any of us have forgotten that," said Aiden.

There was a long pause after that as each member found themselves lost in their own memories of the first two casualties of their section. Then Bounty raised his mug. "To Cole and Ash: the two hardiest bastards I've ever known." The others raised their mugs to the toast and drank deeply. And in the shadows, even though Jaune didn't have mug himself, he joined in on the gesture.

It was while before anyone spoke again, and when they did, it was Naomi who broke the silence, quietly saying, "It's going to happen again."

"What is?" asked Cat.

"The fighting. The killing. The dying. It's all going to start again, isn't it?" Cat's silence rang loudly through the group.

"But… we've been through so much," Terry complained. "Surely the army will let us take a break for a bit."

Naomi shook her head. "I've heard we're being relocated tomorrow."

The group started, everyone talking at once. "Wait, the army won't even give us a day to recover?" demanded Phil. "That's… that's… that's so unfair!"

"No way. I need to see Jasmine. I need to see my wife."

"Why so soon?" whined Terry.

"This is war," Aiden cut in, silencing everyone else. "People are dying every day, and every day we do not fight is another one in which Atlas could invade Vale. If the line breaks because there were not enough men holding it, then it will be civilians who will bear the brunt of the casualties. That is why we must go tomorrow."

"Look on the bright side, Terrier," Bounty tried to reassure him. "I hear we're all gonna get medals for the hell we've been through."

"I don't care about medals," mumbled Terry.

"What? Why not? That'll be a great way to prove to your deadbeat old man that you're a good soldier."

"I don't care about my dad!" Terry suddenly shouted. Jaune stared at him. So did everyone else. Since day one Terry had been trying to prove himself in the army. He'd later admitted that it had been in an attempt to demonstrate his worth to his father, who had been a soldier before him. To hear that Terry didn't care about gaining the admiration of his father anymore… Even Terry seemed to notice what a shocking revelation he'd admitted, going slightly red and beginning to stammer, "I—I mean, not anymore…" Terry groaned. "You're not going to let this one go until I've explained myself, are you?"

"Not a chance," grinned Bounty. "You started a story, you need to finish it now."

Terry sighed before continuing. "My dad's never been there for me. Never. For the first half of my life he was too busy on the battlefield, and for the second half he was too busy at the bottom of a bottle. Being away from him for so long, having time to think instead of trying to get him to notice me… I've realised he'll never be impressed with me. And you know what… I don't care. He doesn't deserve my effort, or my time. So from now on, I'm not wasting another second doing things for him."

"Damn straight," cheered Cat.

"But… but with you guys… you're different. You've always just accepted my place in this section, never asking for anything in return. And I guess I never really thanked you guys for that. For being the first people who accepted me as I was. Don't get me wrong, you guys still make me want to be a better soldier, a better person. But not because I feel I need to prove anything to you, but because I don't want to let you down."

"You're one of Beta section," Phil smiled. "That makes us a team."

"Yeah," replied Terry, and at this his voice caught. "It's just… when I think about how we have to go into the line of fire tomorrow… how the fighting's going to start again… and I think about everyone we've already lost, and who we still have to lose… I can't help but wonder…" Terry choked off.

Naomi finished his sentence. "How many of us will walk back out again?" she whispered.

And there it was—the question Jaune was too afraid to ask himself.

So far, through a combination of planning, teamwork, skill and a whole airship worth of luck, they'd managed to stay one step ahead of their demise, constantly skipping just ahead of its snatching claws. But if they kept going, if they kept dancing with Death, then how long would their luck hold? Cole, Ash, Buzz… what if they were simply the first in a long list of fatalities they were about to suffer? Could Jaune deal with losing even one more friend?

"Well whatever happens tomorrow," said Bounty, his voice unusually sincere, "at least we've got tonight together." He raised his mug once more. "To us."

"It's been one helluvan adventure, guys," said Phil, raising his mug alongside Bounty's. "Here's to hoping, y'know, it lasts a lot longer."

"You guys aren't as bad as I thought you were," added Finn, joining the toast. "So I guess I can't think of many better places to spend my last few days on Remnant. Except with Jasmine of course."

"You lot are a bunch of sappy losers," stated Cat, her arms crossed in front of her, unimpressed. Everyone waited. Bounty cocked an eyebrow at her. Naomi stared at her meaningfully. Finally, Cat gave an exasperated sigh. "Fine, fine, sunshine and rainbows and all that shit to you too." The others all joined in with the toast then, raising their mugs and clinking them together.

And in that moment, watching the genuine friendship between his section, Jaune knew he had his answer. He couldn't. He couldn't accept losing even one more friend. And yet he was about to ask his section to go with him on what was nothing short of a suicide mission. To beat Salem, he'd have to put his section, his friends, in unimaginable danger. He'd have to ask them to throw away whatever commendations or standings with the army they had to go behind the military's back and leave to find Salem. Even if they succeeded the army might think that they had abandoned their duty to escape the war. They would be labelled as traitors, stripped of whatever respect they'd earned and potentially court marshalled. And that was assuming they even managed to find and defeat Salem. If his men decided to come with him, their lives would be ruined. Besides, he wasn't even their sergeant anymore, he remembered glumly, feeling for the rank slide on his chest that he knew wasn't there. He had no right to command them to do anything.

The sad thing was, he knew they'd follow him anyway. He knew that if he asked them to join him, they'd do it in a heartbeat, not because they were brave or noble or strong. But because they trusted him. Because rank slide or not, he knew they'd still see him as their leader. Because after everything they'd been through together, they felt like they owed something to Jaune.

Jaune knew that if he asked them to join him, they'd feel obliged to do so.

So he wouldn't.

He wouldn't force them to choose between their lives and their loyalty to Jaune. He wouldn't leave their careers in tatters to go on one of his crusades, especially if it would very likely end in their deaths. He wouldn't tell them where he was going. And if, when they did find out, they ended up hating him for abandoning them… then Jaune could live with that, knowing they were still alive and well.

This was different to when he'd abandoned team JNPR. That had been a selfish, cowardly act, done simply because he was too scared to face the consequences of his actions, despite what he might have told himself. But leaving Beta section behind… this was for them. So that they could live.

But there was one person Jaune couldn't do this without.

He rose to his feet from where he'd been crouching in the dark, stretching his aching muscles, then strolled into the circle, as if he hadn't spent the last fifteen minutes listening in on their conversation.

"Hey Sarge," smirked Cat. "Have you decided to grace us with your humble presence yet?"

"I'm not your sergeant anymore," he said evenly.

Cat blinked. Terry recoiled. Naomi looked. "You don't possess the rank slide anymore," she realised. "Command took it?" Jaune nodded stiffly.

"Damn, Jaune, that's harsh," whistled Bounty. "You look like you could use a drink. It's not quite a hard shot, but I suppose black coffee's better than nothing."

"Thanks, but I'm fine. Really," Jaune lied. "I came to tell you guys that from tomorrow morning onwards you'll be under the command of Field Sergeant Cardin Winchester—"

"That prick?" demanded Cat. "Which idiot decided that was a good idea."

"I know it's not ideal, but please guys, you have to try to get along with him."

"You said 'you'," Aiden said. Everyone looked at him, then at Jaune. "Twice. Do you not mean ' _we_ will be under his command' and ' _we_ have to try to get along with him'?"

Jaune bit back a frustrated growl at his carelessness, instead fixing a smile to his face. "Sorry, that's right: we have to try to get on with him." His save seemed to work for most of the others, who went back to grumbling about everything, but Aiden was still peering at him as he turned to Phil and said to him, "We need to talk."

"Me?" squeaked Phil. "Am I in trouble?"

"Of course not." Jaune tried to keep his face neutral. "I just… really need to talk to you." Phil shrugged, then got to his feet and followed Jaune as he left the bonfire. With a painful twang in his gut, Jaune realised this might be the last time he'd ever see his friends again. After everything they'd been through, it felt so surreal to be finally parting ways with them, possibly for good. He turned back to have one last look at the people he'd called his section. There was Bounty, laughing uproariously at something Finn had said, shattering the sombre mood that had just hung over the group. There was Cat, trying to maintain a stern expression as she held back laughter. There was Naomi, watching her team's shenanigans with a small smile splayed across her face. There was Terry attempting to make a joke which inevitably fell flat, but still managed to seem hilarious to him. And there was Aiden, the wolf Faunus silently watching Jaune and Phil, as if sensing something was off about them.

Phil coughed. "Are we going somewhere, or…"

"Sorry. Just got lost in thought for a moment. Let's go."

Jaune took the two of them away from their section's makeshift camp, until they were out of even Aiden's impressive hearing range. Then Jaune stopped them and turned to Phil.

"So, uh, if there a reason you brought me out here?"

"Yes." Jaune took a deep breath. "We're going after Salem." Phillip's jaw plonked open. "I know it sounds crazy," Jaune hurriedly continued, "and maybe I sound stupid for believing it, but I know Salem is bad news. I can't explain how, but I just know she's behind the war. Call it a gut feeling, but my intuition says she's dangerous so—"

"I'm in," interrupted Phil. Jaune faltered.

"You… you are?"

"Sure. You said it's a gut feeling, then I trust it. You were trained as a Huntsman, Jaune. If your gut tells you something, then you sure darn listen to it."

Huh. That had been easier than expected. Jaune had thought he would have to spend at least some time convincing Phil of the threat Salem posed. Then again, Phil had seen Salem as well, and he was actually qualified to be a Huntsman. Seeing a scary, Grimm lady… maybe Phil had wanted to go after her as badly as Jaune had.

"Do you still have her coordinates from when you traced her call?" asked Jaune.

"Yup. Sure do. Just… one question. Why aren't you telling the others about this as well?"

Jaune took a deep breath. "They're not Huntsmen. Not like us. They don't have aura or any training against the Grimm whatsoever. If I ask them to come they'll just get hurt. Or worse."

"Maybe," admitted Phil, "but it's gonna be one hell of a task if it's just us two."

"I know, I just… I can't. It wouldn't be fair on them."

Phil shrugged, though his still looked troubled. "Alright then, you're the boss. So what's the plan?"

"First we take a ship and fly to wherever Salem is. I'll need you to pilot the bullhead—"

"A bullhead isn't gonna cut it," cut in Phil. "I'm not sure exactly where the coordinates lead, but they sure as hell aren't in Vale. We're gonna need something with a larger fuel capacity."

"Hmmm," Jaune did a 360 spin, looking for an alternative. "What about that one?"

Phil glanced at where he was pointing, then his face split into a wide grin. "Oh yeah, that ought to cut it."

"It's not really stealing from Vale if we brought it to them in the first place," grinned Jaune, glancing over the ex-General Watts' ship. If it had made it all the way from Atlas to Vale, then chances were it would be able to make the trip from Vale to Salem.

"So we've got our ride. Then what?"

"Once we reach Salem we find a way to take her out, and the war stops."

Phil winced. "Uh… that's not a hugely specific plan."

"We'll figure it out on the way then," Jaune conceded.

"Also, how do we know killing Salem will actually end the war."

Jaune blinked. "It... it has to. She's the one orchestrating the whole thing. If we cut off the head of the snake, the body dies, right?"

"Right… except this is a multi-headed snake, and if you cut off one head, the rest snap back twice as viciously."

"What do you mean?" asked Jaune, dread curdling in his stomach.

"Salem was calling the general of the entire Atlesian military, remember? Watts is clearly in on it, and who else knows how many underlings she has. Even if we beat her, what's to stop Watts from continuing the attack on his own?"

"I… I don't know," admitted Jaune. He hadn't even thought about Watts since their confrontation. But what could he do to stop him? He had the entire Atlesian military to defend him, and if Jaune went after Watts, who would stop Salem?

"I might have an idea," offered Phil reluctantly. Jaune looked at him hopefully. Phil was working his jaw, as if struggling to work up the confidence to offer his suggestion. But then he said, "If we can't stop Watts… then maybe someone else can whilst we go after Salem."

"Do you know someone who could do that?" Jaune demanded.

"Maybe," winced Phil. "Focus on how we'll beat Salem. I'll deal with beating Watts."

Jaune stared hard into Phil's eyes, then nodded. They were really doing this. "We'll leave in the night," he decided. "a couple of hours before dawn. Most of the base should be sleeping by then. Can you get onto contacting whoever you need to contact?"

Phil nodded, and a short while later he was inside the telephone tent, nervously wringing his free hand as the phone rang. When it was picked up, it was a young woman's voice which came through on the other side. "Hello?" she said.

"Hiya sis," replied Phil tentatively.

* * *

 **Psst, hey guys, remember that time I brought up an obscure character called Beatrice Blitz all that time ago and did nothing with her? Yeah, she'd kinda important now. Good luck remembering what the hell happened to her all those chapters ago.**

 **So Jaune decides to leave his friends behind once again, thought this time I think his apprehension at asking his friends to give their lives for him is well founded. Ultimately, Jaune knows that Beta section would join him if he asked, but it wouldn't be because they necessarily wanted to save the world. It would be because he asked them to. It would be him dragging his section around on a suicide mission once again, just as they'd made it to relative safety. Is the risk to their lives worth beating Salem and saving Remnant? Yes. But don't forget that Jaune is a very emotional guy, and he values his friends immensely. He would never see his friends' lives as something he can gamble with. With Phil, it's slightly different (he has aura, training, a decent weapon and he is an ex-Huntsman, not to mention he's the only one who can fly an airship), but with the others, Jaune would rather leave them where it's safe and face Salem alone. It may seem stupid considering what's on the line, but that's the kind of character Jaune seems to be, at least to me: stupidly brave and noble. He'd rather throw his life away than let his friends get hurt, and that's what he thinks he's doing here.**

 **Anyway, if you disagreed with my presentation of Jaune, or think his reasoning was a bit sketchy, feel free to tell me in a review. Or you can just rant for a couple of paragraphs about how much you despise me and everything I stand for if you really want. Whatever floats your boat. I'll be back in a fortnight. See ya!**


	21. Chapter 21 - Friends in High Places

**I am a painfully slow writer. I can literally spend hours in a single day just checking and editing half a chapter.**

* * *

" _The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing"_

 _Edmund Burke_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-One—Friends in High Places**

"Let me get this straight," said Weiss Schnee. "Arc disappears for weeks with zero contact and no goodbye. Suddenly, out of the blue he calls you and tells you that Vale is under attack from a Grimm woman of all things. Then, on top of all that, he asks you specifically to go out and try to defend the entire city from not only an alleged attack from the best military in all of Remnant, but also from some vague assault known only as 'the Breach'?"

Pyrrha grimaced. When you put it like that… "That is what he said, yes," answered Ren.

"And you're going to just believe him without any evidence whatsoever?"

The two teams, RWBY and what was left of JNPR, were sitting across from one another in team RWBY's dorm, each team occupying the lower bed of each bunk. How the bunk beds were even still standing, let alone safe enough to sleep in, Pyrrha had no idea as she stole yet another furtive glance upwards, convinced this time that the upper bunk had shifted above her and was about to come crashing down any moment now.

"Of course!" exclaimed Nora. "It's Jauney. He wouldn't lie to us!"

"Maybe not," accepted Blake. "But Jaune hasn't always been the most dependable source of information before."

"Yeah," agreed Yang. "No offense, but vomit boy really doesn't strike me as the reliable type. He probably just misunderstood the transmission he received."

Pyrrha sighed through her nose. They'd gone over to their neighbour's dorm as soon as Jaune had hung up, intent on recruiting team RWBY to help them protect Vale. They'd explained everything Jaune had told them: the mysterious message he'd received, the monster on the other side of the line, her hijacking of the war to destroy Vale and potentially Atlas at the same time. But from the look of things, they still had some persuasion to go.

"I understand your scepticism," Pyrrha began diplomatically, "but we knew Jaune better than you did, and we heard his call first-hand. He's serious about this threat. And I believe him."

"Does the potential consequences of doing nothing not outweigh the trouble of acting?" asked Ren. "The entire fate of the Kingdom may be at stake here. Does that not merit that we do something?"

Pyrrha saw the heiress do the maths inside her head, figuring out the costs and benefits of the decision to help. "That may be true," she conceded, "but even if, against all the odds, Arc is correct in his prediction of an impending attack and whatever this Breach is, let me once more remind you that we are just students. Children. This isn't our fight. We should take this information to the authorities: the council or at least Ozpin. They might be able to direct actual Huntsmen to protect Vale. Men and women who have actually completed their training in preparation for this sort of eventuality."

"We fully intend to inform Ozpin of the attack after this," explained Pyrrha. "But even what he can do is limited. Almost every Huntsman in the Kingdom has been conscripted to fight with the military. Even if he could get a hold of them and convince them to abandon the front lines, they would take too long to return to Vale. There simply aren't enough trained Huntsmen available. That is why Jaune asked for us specifically."

"Besides, everybody knows the council is _super_ slow," added Nora. "Those fossils would be scratching their heads and arguing over taking action long after the attack had already levelled Vale." Weiss couldn't argue with that. The Valesian council were notoriously slow to act, even in times of emergency. Without any solid evidence to suggest an attack was imminent, they'd likely ignore them entirely, or else open up hours of debates and discussions about the risks and benefits of drawing Huntsmen away from the front lines to defend against a supposed attack.

"Still though…"

"We'll help," said Ruby Rose. Yang, Blake, and most of all Weiss stared at their diminutive team leader. The shorter girl had been mostly silent during team NPR's recounting of what Jaune had told them and had appeared to be deep in thought whilst Weiss had grilled them. But now she sat forward, and her silver eyes were bright with determination.

"Ruby," tried Weiss, "if we do this, it could be seriously dangerous. We might be putting ourselves directly in the invasion's way."

"I know," replied Ruby. "But innocent people are in danger, and I won't just stand back and watch other people get hurt."

"Spoken like a true Huntress," nodded Blake.

"Awwww, you're so cute when you're being noble," cooed Yang, scooping a blushing Ruby into a bear hug.

"Yaaaaaaaang," complained Ruby. When the blond brawler put Ruby down, she added, "Plus, Jaune asked us to help, and Jaune's my friend."

"Well when you put it like that," laughed Yang. "I'm in. Time to kick some invasion butt. You in Blake?"

"Sure," said Blake, rolling her eyes. "I suppose it's better to be safe than sorry."

"Weiss?" asked Ruby. "Don't you want to help set things right with your Kingdom?"

"Of course I do," the older girl huffed. Then she relented. "Fine, I'm in. I was mostly playing Devil's advocate anyway. So what's the plan?"

Pyrrha felt a smile tug her lips. They'd already gained an extra four allies against whatever was to come. Team RWBY might have been one of the first years like them, but they were all formidable in their own rights, and even more so once they worked as a team. Already an impossible mission was seeming more feasible. Though admittedly, seven Huntsmen-in-training still didn't seem like a large enough number to repel an attack. "First things first, we need to talk to Ozpin and see if he can offer us any aid," decided Pyrrha.

"Want us to come with you on that?" asked Yang.

"Nah, we'll be fine," Nora assured her. "Just you wait and see. We'll have Ozpin wrapped around our little finger in no time!"

"Good luck then," offered Blake. Pyrrha accepted her words with a nod.

Team NPR left the dorm and began heading towards Ozpin's office. They reached the elevator and crowded inside, taking the lift all the way to the top of Beacon tower. Before long they found themselves stepping out into Ozpin's office.

"Professor Ozpin?" called Pyrrha.

The professor had his focus directed on a series of holographic monitors above his desk, his eyes drinking in whatever information they offered him. When he noticed the team entering he quickly waved them away, and the monitors disappeared. "Ah, Miss Nikos, Mr Lie Ren and Miss Valkyrie. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"There's something we need to tell you, Professor," began Ren.

Professor Ozpin paused at Ren's tone. "I see. Perhaps it will be better if we are all seated for this," he suggested, getting up and pulling out some more chairs from a hidden cupboard.

It was then that Pyrrha told Ozpin everything: everything they'd been told by Jaune, what they'd deduced on their own, who they believed Salem was. Pyrrha told him most of it, with both Ren and Nora interjecting at certain points to add extra details Pyrrha had forgotten.

By the end Professor Ozpin had risen to his feet and had begun pacing behind his desk. When Pyrrha's voice finally fell silent Ozpin turned away from them to stare out the floor-to-ceiling window.

"It's worse than I thought," he murmured.

"Professor Ozpin? Are you alright?" asked Pyrrha. Never before had she seen the Headmaster so agitated. It was unnerving. If even Professor Ozpin was worried about this threat, then that didn't bode well.

"I should have realised," the Professor muttered. "James' death was no accident; it was the first step in her plan. He needed to be removed to allow her to hijack Atlas' army. No doubt Salem has one of her pawns controlling it—"

"Wait," interrupted Nora. "You know Salem?"

Ozpin grimaced at his carelessness, then halted his pacing and turned to face them. "I… yes. As a matter of fact, I do."

"How?" demanded Nora.

"It is a long story," the Professor sighed. "And one I doubt is of much relevance."

"But who is she?" enquired Ren.

The Professor seemed to debate how much to tell his students. "Salem is, I suppose for lack of a better term, Queen of the Grimm." A small gasp slipped out of Pyrrha. "She is dangerously intelligent and infinitely patient. Her entire purpose seems to be the complete annihilation of man and all he has built. I imagine this entire war is her latest, and perhaps most successful, venture to achieve just that." Pyrrha had suspected. A part of her might have even known all along. But nonetheless hearing it confirmed by her Headmaster, a man she respected and trusted immensely, had her heart hammering against her chest. All her fighting life she had been faced with either the intelligence of a human opponent or the barbarity of a Grimm one, but never both. But if someone took the brains of a human and gave it control of the relentlessness and ruthlessness of the Grimm, what kind of destruction could that bring?

"But you, you do know how to stop her, don't you?" begged Pyrrha.

"Unfortunately, no. Despite my best efforts, I do not even know where she is currently located. And even if I did, or we were to use Mr Arc's information to find her, it would matter little. Salem has made the first move. We must counter it before we attempt our own attack."

"You're right," agreed Ren. "Salem isn't currently the biggest threat. For now we need to focus on protecting Vale. That is why we came to you, Professor. We need your help in preventing the Breach."

"Alas, I am afraid there is little I can do," admitted Ozpin. "I have several contacts, but almost all of them are too far away to make it back to Vale in time. And even if they could, I regret to say that this war has already claimed the lives of too many Huntsmen. Those remaining are desperately needed on the front lines to prevent a ground assault of Vale as well, which I need not inform you would be much worse for the Kingdom."

"There's really no one close enough to help?" asked Nora. "Didn't the council leave at least a few Huntsmen to defend Vale?"

"I must admit, this attack has caught us by surprise. Not even I suspected Atlas would risk losing half their fleet to destroy Vale, though I suppose that is also part of Salem's plan. If the Atlesian military is decimated by this war, they will have little protection against the other Kingdoms. Or the Grimm."

"What about the teachers here?" suggested Pyrrha. "Or even the students. I am sure many of them will be more than happy to defend their city."

Ozpin was silent for a long moment, but then he slowly shook his head. "No."

"No?" demanded Nora. "What do you mean no?! Vale is under attack! We need to defend it."

"You do not understand," Ozpin tried to explain. "I have fought Salem much longer than you have. I know her better than anyone. She wants us to defend Vale. She wants me to empty Beacon so that it is left unguarded."

"What is the problem with that?" asked Ren. "Surely civilian lives are more important than buildings."

"That is not the issue here, Mr Lie Ren. It is not the walls of Beacon that concern me so much as what is in it."

"What's in it?" inquired Ren. "What requires so much protection?"

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you that. Not from a lack of trust," he quickly amended when it looked like Nora would interject. "Simply because the fewer people who know, the better. But I can tell you this: there is an object at Beacon that Salem wants very badly. If she gets her hands on it, she will posses untold power. I have sworn to prevent that from happening."

"So… so you won't help us?" asked Pyrrha.

"I—I am sorry. I can make a few calls on your behalf and offer you a bullhead to get to Vale. But Beacon is too important to leave unguarded."

"Even more important than Vale?" asked Pyrrha quietly.

Ozpin looked away. "Yes."

Pyrrha stared. Stared at the headmaster she'd once had so much respect for. Had once been convinced would always do the right thing. But now here he was, telling her that Vale wasn't worth protecting. That civilians weren't worth protecting.

She was still staring at him when Ren cleared his throat and said, "If that is all Professor, we will leave you to your work."

The professor nodded, and soon team NPR had filed back to the elevator. But just as the doors were about to shut, Pyrrha turned back and said, "When I first decided to become a Huntress, it was because I believed that my destiny was to help people. I thought that it was the duty of all Huntsmen to protect people who couldn't protect themselves. Not objects."

Then the doors slid shut, leaving Pyrrha with one last image of Ozpin's pensive face.

The ride back to ground level was silent. Pyrrha herself was too deep in thought to notice. One thing was clear to her: Ozpin wouldn't help. They were on their own.

* * *

Beatrice Blitz stared at the mirror in the bathroom of her quarters and struggled to recognise the woman staring back. The pristine uniform-clad chest, the weary eyes ringed with bags from too many late nights working, the bob haircut dyed a disgusting mud-brown colour: was that her? The woman looked like her. She moved like her. She spoke like her. But that couldn't be Beatrice staring back. Beatrice would never have accepted the invasion of another Kingdom. She would never have sat back and let innocents be injured by an amoral war. She would never have bowed her head in obedience when General Watts had informed her of the forthcoming attack on the city of Vale, a docile dog accepting its orders from its master.

Would she?

 _Coward._

She splashed some water on her face, hoping the sharp sting of the cold would shock her into alertness. It didn't work. It rarely did. For a while now she'd been struggling to pull herself together, to get herself in order. She felt like she was watching events in the world unfolding in a dream, seeing them vividly yet being unable to act against them. What was wrong with her? Anytime she managed to pull her conscience together long enough to decide to say something against the mindless slaughter of this war, as she'd almost done today when General Watts had given her and other commanders the order to rendezvous for an attack on Vale, she'd suddenly find herself feeling too docile to question her seniors. It was most unlike her, yet she'd nonetheless found herself slowly sinking into apathy since the invasion began, unable or unwilling to do anything.

What was happening to her?

 _Weakling._

She bunched her hands into fists, then turned off the tap and forced herself to turn away from the mirror and the stranger staring back. It was late, and she should really be sleeping. She'd no doubt have another emotionally taxing day tomorrow.

That was, if she could even find the will to drag herself out of bed.

Beatrice was senior enough to possess her own private quarters on one of the behemoth flying Dreadnoughts Atlas possessed, so her bedroom was luxury compared to the bunkbed dormitories most other soldiers had to sleep in. Yet as Beatrice lay on her bed, her mind a whirling maelstrom of the horrors she'd seen all too recently, she knew she'd never get to sleep tonight.

War was a bloody and brutal mess. General Watts had been wrong: the people of Vale hadn't welcomed them with open arms. They'd fought them. Ferociously, fiercely, Vale had fought to fend off the occupiers, forcing Atlas to pay dearly in blood and machinery for every inch of soil gained. Mostly in blood. Although Atlas did have a wide array of mechanised infantry and artillery, the equipment was enormously expensive, and therefore General Watts had decided to primarily use human soldiers to take the brunt of the fighting. That would allow Atlas to keep its robots in reserve for if the situation became dire.

At least, that was the reason General Watts gave.

And when Atlesian casualties had begun mounting, when men had lost their best friends because of Valesian troops' stubbornness after they'd been promised the occupation would be quick and bloodless, hatred had slowly stewed and simmered, festering in the ranks of the military and slowly building its strength until finally, just a week ago, a patrol had come across the Atlesian bodies. A whole section of them, lying face down in a field, a neat bullet hole piercing the back of each of their heads.

In that moment, the dam had shattered. Before the next morning, twelve Valesian prisoners—one for each of the executed Atlesian soldiers—had been shot and dumped close to Vale's lines for them to find. Beatrice had wanted to have the perpetrators arrested and court marshalled immediately, then sent to a military prison. General Watts had overruled her, claiming that Atlas' need for men was too great to waste so many perfectly good soldiers. Since that moment, the fighting had gotten bloodier, dirtier and less humane every day.

And she had let it happen.

 _Murderer._

Beatrice tossed and turned a while longer, an inescapable chant ringing through her mind. _Coward. Weakling. Murderer._ Finally, unable to bear it any longer, she hurled off her suffocating sheets and strode for her wardrobe, throwing on her uniform before leaving her room to stalk the halls of the dreadnought, dark thoughts chasing after her every step of the way.

It was as she was walking that her scroll began to buzz incessantly in her pocket. Beatrice paused. That was her private scroll which was ringing. That ruled out the caller being someone in the military. But she'd only ever handed out this scroll's number to a handful of people. So who could this be?

She pulled the scroll out of her pocket, noticing the screen flashing with the message _'local transmissions only'_. Since Vale had sabotaged their own CCT it had become increasingly difficult to transmit between Kingdoms, but communications within a Kingdom were still just about possible. That meant the person was calling her from in or around Vale, likely not too far from where her Dreadnought was hovering in Valesian airspace.

A sharp tug yanked at her insides. It couldn't be. Surely it couldn't be.

Heart racing, Beatrice raised the scroll to her ear and said, "Hello?"

"Hiya sis."

Beatrice leapt into the air as if electrified, then dived into a storage cupboard branching off from the corridor. Slamming the door shut, she brought the scroll back to her ear and hissed, "What are you doing?"

"Geez, good to hear you too sis," Phillip Blitz replied.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble I could be in for even picking up?" Beatrice demanded. "I'm risking my entire career for this conversation."

"Two years with no contact and this is how you start it? No wonder I never visited," her twin bit back.

"What did you expect? We're on opposite sides of a war. You've got some impeccable timing to start reaching out, brother."

"That's exactly why I'm calling," retorted Phil. He inhaled deeply through his nose, then continued. "This war… it's not what it seems."

"What are you talking about?" Beatrice demanded.

"I'm talking about your precious General Watts," he snapped.

"What of him?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that he's secretly working for a Grimm lady and has orchestrated this entire war to destroy Vale and turn humanity against itself?"

Beatrice started. "A Grimm lady? Wha—what are you talking about?"

"It's a long story," admitted Phil. "Short of it is that Watts started the war under the orders of someone called Salem. And Salem's also, y'know, a Grimm."

"No I don't know!" she hissed furiously. "What do you mean she's a Grimm? Why does a Grimm have a name?!"

"You're mistaking the Nevermore for the feathers!" Phil cried. "Point is, Watts is going to attack Vale! We have to stop him."

A cold, leathery hand slid its way down Beatrice's back. She locked up, back going rigid as icy water filled her veins. Her eyes went wide and she opened her mouth to scream—

Then she relaxed. It was actually quite comforting, she realised. This process. It was nice. She didn't need to figure out what it was. She should just accept it. Just accept it. Accept it.

Beatrice felt like she sinking into herself, slowly giving up control, even as the nice, numbing sensation spread throughout her entire body.

"Bea? Bea?" Phil's voice seemed to filter to her down a long, dim tunnel. "Bea, are you still there?"

"General Watts has ordered that an assault on the city of Vale is to commence in order to convince the authorities of Vale to surrender," Beatrice and yet not quite Beatrice stated evenly. "If those are his orders, then that is what I will do."

Phil took a sharp breath. Beatrice did nothing. Silence reigned.

 _Coward. Weakling. Murderer._

Beatrice saw the world as if she were watching it through a distant screen: she could see it, but she felt like she was too far away to touch it, interact with it. It didn't matter anyway. She was too relaxed to try to take back control.

"What happened to you?" whispered Phil too quietly. Beatrice didn't answer. "What happened to you?" he demanded again. "We went to Beacon in Vale. We trained to be Huntsmen to protect its civilians. What happened to that woman? What happened to my sister?"

"General Watts has given me my orders," she replied unfeelingly. "It is not my place to question them. The General ha—"

"Watts did this to you," whispered Phil.

Somewhere, deep within the recess of the numbing sensation, Beatrice stirred. "What do you mean?"

"He made you do what he wants. He tried to do the same to me and Terry. Did do the same to me. Bea, please, you have to believe me. Watts is somehow controlling you."

"I-I don't… why…" Why was it so hard for Beatrice to think? She felt like her mind was filled with treacle, leaving her jumbled thoughts to struggle slowly through the thick syrup. General Watts was… controlling her? That… that couldn't be. General Watts was noble. He was kind. He was just and…

Wait… no he wasn't. He was callous and tactical and apathetic, but kind? Noble? She'd never once thought those things about him. It was as if someone else had planted that thought inside her head. Like someone else had tampered with her mind.

Tampered with her mind?

 _Her_ mind.

For her entire life, Beatrice had only ever been able to count on two things: her brother and her mind. Two years ago she'd lost the former, leaving her with nothing but her wits to lead her through the viper pit of sycophants and ultra-nationalists that made up the Atlas military. Her brain had helped her rise the ranks of the military at an unprecedented rate. It had kept her alive in battle after battle with the Grimm. At times it had been the only weapon she'd possessed, and the only blade she'd never let go dull. Her mind was everything to her. Everything. And now someone else was trying to muddle it? Trying to defile it? Violate it? No, not just someone.

Watts.

 _Bastard_.

Beatrice reached towards the screen separating her from the real world, pulled towards it by her twin's voice. The twin who had stood by her every day for almost 23 years, who had never once lied to her about anything, who had always wanted what was best for her. Who was now guiding her back to her senses.

Beatrice's fingers caressed the cold glass trapping her in her own mind.

And shattered through it.

She gasped as the numbing sensation burnt out of her system in an instant and feeling rushed back into her body. She almost collapsed at the sudden crash of sensations that stunned her. The feeling was akin to a blindfold being yanked off to reveal blinding daylight, and Beatrice bent double for several seconds just processing everything she hadn't even realised had been dulled.

"Bea? Bea! Are you alright? Shout if you're hurt. Unless you can't shout. In which case… urgh, just tell me you're okay!"

"I'm fine," she gasped, and for the first time in days she truly felt that way. "I'm… I'm me again."

"Prove it," demanded Phil.

"On our fifth birthday we had a surprise party in which you came downstairs in nothing but your underwear and all our friends saw you. You were known as the Underwear Kid at school for weeks."

Phil's squawk of embarrassment confirmed that he still remembered that story far too well. "Alright, alright, you're you," conceded Phil. "Thank goodness. What the hell was that anyway?"

"Watts' semblance," realised Beatrice.

"He can control people?"

"I… I don't think so. At least not completely. I think… I think it's more like he changes what you think, or plants new thoughts in your mind, so that you _want_ to do what he tells you."

"That's… that's all kinds of messed up."

"You're telling me."

"So Watts is controlling the Atlesian army with his semblance?"

"I… I don't know…" Beatrice thought about it. Was Watts really capable of using his semblance on everyone in the military?

Would he even need to?

She grimaced. No he wouldn't. Most of the junior soldiers and officers would just do whatever their seniors told them, whilst a fair number of senior officers practically revered the General, treating his orders as laws unto themselves. Still more would be too afraid to dare questioning him, even if they did disagree. That left just a handful of dissidents which he'd need to use his semblance on. Dissidents like her.

She grimaced. "I think he's only using his semblance on certain key individuals, then letting the chain of command keep everyone else under his control."

"But… but he's ordering the army to destroy Vale," gasped Phil. "People are willing to do that?"

"He's telling them whatever they want to hear: that it's the quickest and least bloody way to end this war; that it'll only be a partial bombing, and that most civilians won't be harmed; that Vale have forced our hand by refusing any peace deal we've offered them."

"Then he has to be stopped," decided Phil. "You need to take him out before Vale is—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," interrupted Beatrice. "Hang on. You want me to take down the leader of the entire Atlas military? Are you out of your mind?"

"It's the only way, Bea. If Watts succeeds, then all of Vale gets levelled. I'd do it myself if I could, but I can't. That's why I need you."

"How am I even supposed to do it?" she demanded.

"You're smart. You'll figure out a way."

"Fine," sighed Beatrice. Beatrice realised grimly that she was plotting a full-blown mutiny, and whilst that should have left her mortified by her actions, considering the circumstances: Vale in critical danger, thousands of lives on the line, and a psychotic general who might be working for the Grimm, Beatrice supposed she could live with her decision. "I'll see what I can do. But what about this Salem person? If we let her slink away, she'll just be back another day. We need to deal with her too if we want to end this threat for good." Phil went silent on the other side of the line, and Beatrice very quickly worked out why. "You're planning on taking her out yourself, aren't you?"

"…Yes," he admitted. "Don't be mad though! I've got this other guy coming along too. Jaune. He's also a Huntsman. Well, kinda. He never finished his training. He barely even begun actually. But he's partially trained, so it's oka—"

"Phil," interrupted Beatrice. She took a deep breath. "It's alright. If you feel you need to go… then I'm not about to stop you."

"You… you mean it?"

 _No!_ she wanted to scream. "Yes," she said. As much as it pained her to willingly give her brother her blessing to go on a horrifically dangerous mission like this, she'd made the mistake of trying to control her brother's life already. If he was going to do this—and she could tell he was—then she wouldn't hold him back. "Just… be careful, alright. I… I can't lose you a second time."

"Hey, I will," he promised. "When this is all over we have a lot of catching up to do."

Beatrice smiled, but it was brittle. ' _If they survived this'_ was what Phil wasn't saying. But she still appreciated her twin trying to lighten what might be their last conversation. So she replied, "You should come visit after this. Atlas is lovely this time of year. Plenty of snow."

"Isn't Atlas snowy all the time?"

"Yeah, it is. On second thoughts, I'll visit you. I miss the Valesian sun."

"If it's sun you want, we should visit Vacuo. Always wanted to go there."

"It's settled then. When this is all over we're taking a much deserved vacation to Vacuo."

"I'll be saving up my shore leave."

"Likewise."

"I gotta go now. Got things to prepare. Salem isn't gonna wait."

"Sure." Beatrice bit her lip. Just as Phil was about to hang up she added, "Phil, I'm… I'm sorry." For trying to control him, for breaking up their team, for abandoning him for Atlas.

Phil was silent for a while. "Yeah," he replied. "Me too." And then he hung up.

Beatrice left the storage cupboard feeling lighter than she'd done in months. But just as she stepped into the corridor the ground beneath her feet juddered and tilted wildly. Beatrice clung onto the doorframe of the cupboard until the rolling floor finally stabilised. She listened. She could hear the growl of a nearby engine, and beyond that the unmistakable chorus of quieter, more distant engines accompanying the first. Beatrice lowered her hand to the ground and felt. The slight juddering of the ship was unmissable.

Beatrice straightened. She didn't bother with subtlety. She just ran.

The airships were on the move.

The attack had begun.

* * *

 **Ahhh siblings. Can't live with them. Can't live without. Boy do I know that feeling. Though admittedly the situation is somewhat different between me and my siblings...**

 **Boy am I an erratic writer. I spent about 10 days writing the Beatrice and Phillip half of this chapter, then the last 4 of this fortnight throwing together the first half with team NPR. Go figure.**


	22. Chapter 22 - Scramble

**It's that time again!**

* * *

 _"It is evil things we shall be fighting against: brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution"_

 _Neville Chamberlain_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Two—Scramble**

Jaune waited until the dead of night before stirring from his bunk bed. He listened intently, noting the steady breathing of the rest of his section, along with Bounty's rumbling snores above him. They were all out. Good. Jaune swung his legs out of his bed and stealthily dressed, careful to not make a sound as he donned his metal armour. Considering what it'd been through, it was nothing short of a miracle that it was still in one piece, though as Jaune skirted his fingers across its surface he didn't fail to notice the way the metal was scorched and warped, especially on his back, where a number of shots had impacted over the past few days. He winced as his searching fingers brushed against a large bruise underneath a particularly dented section of his armour. Aura could stop a bullet from piercing the skin, and even absorb a good amount of its energy, but it couldn't completely negate the brute force of a speeding projectile crashing into flesh. Bullets still hurt. And he couldn't afford to waste any aura healing his minor injury. He'd need every scrap of it with what was to come.

Once Jaune was done dressing (his fingers once more feeling for the vacant rank slide at his chest) he padded over to where Phil was sleeping. He nudged him awake, quickly clamping a hand over his mouth when the dark-haired man jerked into consciousness. Phil's eyes widened for a moment, then relaxed when he realised who it was standing over him. He nodded, indicating to Jaune that he wouldn't make a noise, and Jaune removed his hand, allowing the older man to slide out of his bed and begin to get dressed. Once they were both ready Phil led the way out of the dorm room they were staying in. Jaune took one last look at the men and women of his section, at the team he'd unwittingly made and yet was no less thankful for having, then turned away and left them sleeping.

The two men snuck their way through the sleeping compound, careful to avoid the groups of guards patrolling the base and the stray soldiers stumbling out of their sleeping quarters to relieve themselves. Before long they'd made it to where they'd landed the stolen Atlesian airship. Jaune spotted a single guard smoking off to one side of the airship, likely too bored by the late-night shift to be paying much attention to intruders. Jaune and Phil dove to their bellies a little way out and waited for an opening.

"This is it, Jaune," whispered Phil next to him. "Last chance to call it all off and finish catching up on some Z's."

Jaune allowed himself a split-second to entertain the idea of calling it a night and returning to their quarters. Let someone else deal with the problem. Let some other poor sod risk their life to beat Salem. He'd be warm and safe in his glorious bed. Then the moment passed, and Jaune shook the illusion from his mind. They had a job to do.

"I guess we're doing this then," sighed Phil.

Jaune waited until the guard pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit a fresh cigarette, knowing the glow would ruin the guard's night-vision. Then, at his signal, the two of them leapt to their feet and bolted towards the airship. They made it to the opposite side of the ship and hugged the metal hull, listening. When several frantic heartbeats had passed and still no alarm had been raised, Jaune relaxed. They hadn't been spotted.

Jaune and Phil crept around the outside of the airship until they reached the closed rampway at the back of the ship. Then Jaune turned to Phil. "Think you can open the ramp for us?"

"Sure thing."

"Can you do it quietly?"

Phil paused and considered it. "Yes… but it's gonna be slow."

"Get started," ordered Jaune. While Phil worked on lowering the ramp silently, Jaune poked his head around the corner of the ship. The guard was still smoking, oblivious to the thieves just meters away from him. Jaune ducked back around and took several deep, calming breaths. He'd need his head as clear as possible if he wanted to stand even a chance of beating Salem. How exactly he planned to do that, Jaune didn't know. He just prayed something would come to him on the ship. Not a good plan by any means, but still the best one he had.

Jaune glanced back at Phil, who had the door about halfway down, using his semblance to manually open what should have been a locked door. It wouldn't be much longer now before they'd leave the base behind and fly to Sal—

"Freeze! Who's there?" a voice demanded. Jaune froze.

Slowly, he turned around and came face to face with a Valesian guard. The man had his rifle pointed directed at him. Phil whispered, "Ahh crud."

"Georgie, what're you talking abou—? Oh." The smoking guard rounded the corner and froze at the scene. "Bloody 'ell, you only went for a piss."

Jaune cursed his haste, realising the other guard must have been out of their view when they'd rushed for the airship, and had then snuck up and surprised them.

"What are you doing here?" demanded the second guard, Georgie. Jaune had no answer. His mind was blank.

"Um… maintenance?" tried Phil.

"At this time of night? As if. You're coming with us," declared Georgie.

Jaune gritted his teeth. They didn't have time for this. They needed to get out of here to stop Salem. These guards were slowing them down.

"Look," Jaune tried. "I know what this looks like, but I promise you we've got good reason for this."

"Yeah, like cowardliness," scoffed the smoker. "Save it for the colo—Hurgh!"

"What the—" Georgie was able to spin around and raise his weapon a full six inches before Bounty clobbered him over the head with the butt of his rifle.

"Guards; zero. Bounty; one!" cheered the bearded, older man as he beheld his unconscious opponent.

"Ewww, this one's a dribbler," complained Cat as she choked out the smoker who, true to her word, had a line of saliva trailing down his asphyxiating chin.

"Guys?" gasped Jaune, for there, emerging from various hiding spots amid the darkness, was every member of Beta section.

"You should see the expression on your face right now," smirked Naomi.

"What the—guys? How did you..."

"I was worried about the way you were acting at dinner," explained Aiden. "So I decided to follow you when you left with Phillip. I heard your entire conversation."

"And being the overprotective mother hen that Aiden is, he decided to enlighten all of us on your plans," finished Bounty. "Tut, tut, tut, Jaune, don't you know it's rude not to invite your friends to the party?"

"But how did you guys know when we'd be leaving?"

"Cat heard you go and woke us up," explained Terry. "The woman's nocturnal, I swear."

"What can I say? I'm just not much of a sleeper."

"Guys, look," Jaune began. "If you've come to stop me from leaving, don't bother. I have to do th—"

"Oh my god, shut up!" exclaimed Cat. "We're not here to stop you. If you want to throw your life away on some suicide mission, then I don't have a problem with that. You do you. But leaving us in the middle of the night without so much as a note? Not cool, Jaune. Not cool."

"So why are you here then?" asked Phil. "To say goodbye?"

"Not quite," said Aiden, stepping forward. "I for one, came to ask you one simple question. Why are you doing this?"

"Say again?"

"Why are you risking your lives to try to stop Salem? You must realise the military will brand you as traitors."

"I know," said Jaune.

"Then why are you doing this?"

Phil glanced between Jaune and Aiden. "I mean, it's sort of my job. I see a Grimm, I kill it. Or at least, it was. I suppose it's not really my job anymore. But still, it needs to be done, so I guess it might as well be me, y'know?"

"And what about you, Jaune?" asked Aiden, turning to Jaune. "If you do this, no one will know about it. At best it will remain a secret. At worst you may still be court marshalled for deserting your post. You will not be known as a hero."

"I know," whispered Jaune.

"Then why?"

Jaune closed his eyes and looked into himself, searching for the answer. Why did he do what he did? Why was he so willing to throw his own life away? And why was he happy to do it all for nothing?

The answer, Jaune realised, was surprisingly easy to find.

"It isn't about being known. It isn't about being sung about in songs or being praised by civilians. It isn't even about being a hero. It's about fighting to save the things I love. The people I love. And if that means giving my life for them… then I'll gladly give it."

The old Jaune wouldn't have said that. The Jaune who had arrived for his first day at Beacon academy had wanted nothing more than to be known. To be a someone, when his whole life he'd been a nobody.

Maybe that Jaune had disappeared the day he'd been kicked out of Beacon.

And in his place, created in a forge of crushing expectation, hammered into being by fear, tempered by pain, and finally quenched by loss, a new Jaune Arc had emerged. A Jaune Arc who didn't need to be loved by the masses, because he now knew he was loved by the people around him. A Jaune Arc who suddenly realised with startling clarity that his life would be meaningless without the friends he'd made along the way. A new Jaune Arc.

A better Jaune Arc.

Aiden nodded once, and Jaune got the sneaking suspicion that the question had been a test all along, and that something in what he'd said had proven sufficient for Aiden. "Very well then," he said. "In that case, I will go with you, Jaune."

"You… you will?"

"I will. This is the only family I have left. You are the people I love. I will fight to protect that."

Jaune immediately realised that this wasn't a goodbye, but a sign-up. His section had come here not to stop him, but to go with him. And as that thought flashed across his mind, another one clanged through him. They were going to die. Without aura or even an hour of Huntsman training, Salem would kill them. They didn't realise this; they couldn't, or else they wouldn't be so quick to sign away their own souls. Jaune had to make sure they knew exactly what hell they were walking head first into.

"Stop," he said. "You guys don't understand. This mission is like nothing you've ever done. Nothing we've ever done. It might not even be possible. You thought surviving in Grimm-infested woods was bad? We'll be willingly walking directly into the Grimm's domain, and none of you have aura. If they get even half a chance, they'll tear you apart. And Salem… she's the real deal. She will kill you in a heartbeat. No mercy, no quarter. You guys need to realise the hard truth: if we do this, most of us aren't coming back. This might be the last thing you ever do."

"Don't think we don't know the consequences," Bounty grunted. His voice was deadly serious, and his usual devil-may-care grin was nowhere to be seen. "But that still doesn't mean we don't want to help. I've wasted the better half of my life being selfish and look where that got me: a wife who hates me, a son who won't talk to me. If I can die doing the only meaningful thing in my life…if I can prove to my son at least once that his father is not a complete piece to trash… then that's worth it, I say."

"And I meant what I said," Aiden told Jaune. "This section has given me something the world has never even offered me: acceptance. I will not abandon you now that the road looks rocky."

"You guys still don't understand," pleaded Jaune. "The last thing Sergeant Cole said to me was to keep you safe. I can't do that if you come with me."

"No, you don't understand," corrected Naomi. "Sergeant Cole ordered you to protect us, not to control us. It is our choice to go with you Jaune, despite the dangers, and neither you nor Sergeant Cole can take that away. And I know for a fact that if Buzz were here now, he'd have gone in a heartbeat. Not because he'd have thought he'd be getting anything out of it, but because it's the right thing to do." Naomi smiled sadly. "I'll do this for him."

"But what about your parents?" asked Jaune gently. "They can't take losing both their children."

Naomi's brow furrowed, and she bit her lip, but nonetheless she said, "They… they'll understand. One day. They'll understand I died fighting with my other siblings."

"I… I want to come too," stuttered Terry. "You're still my sergeant, badge or not. But… but more than that you guys are my friends. And if I didn't go and one of you got hurt, I'd never be able to live with myself."

"What about you, Cat?" prompted Bounty. "You up for kicking some Grimm ass?"

Cat hesitated. She opened her mouth to answer, then shut it, then bit her lip, then stamped her foot in frustration. For the first time since meeting her, Cat looked torn by indecision. It wasn't hard to realise why. Jaune still hadn't forgotten the way Cat had acted when they'd been attacked by the Grimm in the forest. Now she was being asked to willingly travel straight into the lair of an intelligent Grimm and face whatever monsters she had in store for them.

Apparently, Naomi hadn't forgotten either. "It's alright if you don't want to come," she soothed. "There's no shame in deciding this is too big a task."

"Like hell there isn't," growled Cat. Her fists clenched, then her jaw tightened. She seemed to be mentally wrestling with herself, but finally she forced a watery grin to her face and tried to joke, "Well I did already choke out a guard. I guess that makes me already complicit in the crime." Jaune nodded, choosing not to notice the way her hands trembled slightly by her sides.

"Guys, I—" began Jaune.

"Don't try it," growled Bounty. "We're coming with you, and that's final. There's nothing you can say to change our minds."

Jaune opened his mouth, but then shut it again. These people, his friends, were really willing to risk their lives to help him. Not because they felt obliged to, or because he'd ordered them to, but because they wanted to. Of their own free violation, they'd chosen to help him. And whilst a part of him was filled with dread at the thought of them putting their lives on the line like this, a larger part was filled with something else. Some mix of pride and gratitude and awe. He knew he couldn't dissuade his team from following him, but more than that he didn't want to. It was only now that he realised the thought of going after Salem with just himself and Phil had been like a heavy weight on his thoughts, constantly dragging him down. But now, with his friends around him, that weight was replaced by something else.

Hope.

So when he opened his mouth next, it wasn't to dissuade his section, but to say simply, "Let's get onboard then. We've got a Grimm to kill."

"Oh, and one other thing," added Aiden. "After I informed the team of what you were planning, we took the liberty of visiting the stores."

"We figured you'd be hopelessly underprepared," Naomi informed him.

"What did you get?" inquired Phil.

Cat listed their items off. "Spare magazines for all of us, a belt of dust grenades, they wouldn't let us take a bazooka for Nuke unfortunately. Oh, and these." From underneath Cat's sleeve a shining blade shot out and glinted wickedly in the moonlight. The mini sword was shaped like a teardrop, with a wide, bulbous end over the back of Cat's hand which narrowed into a point. The whole thing was about the length of Cat's forearm. But small though it might have been, Jaune could tell it was a very formidable weapon.

"Where did you get those?" asked Phil, eyes wide and somewhat dreamy.

"It would appear that Vale has upgraded its stock since the war commenced," answered Naomi. "I hypothesise it's a replacement for bayonets, which would still allow soldiers to engage in hand-to-hand combat, but without the drawback of greatly reducing the range on their rifles. We all decided to take one. I imagine we'll need it if the Grimm get too close."

"That's good thinking," complimented Jaune. "But now we really need to go. I don't want to be around when those guards wake up."

Apparently, neither did anyone else. One by one, the members of Beta section piled onboard the airship, until only Jaune and Bounty were left standing outside. That was when Jaune realised who he'd missed. "Wait, where's Finn?"

Bounty's grin soured on his face as he mumbled, "He's not coming."

"He didn't want to come?"

"No. He doesn't know. He wasn't there when Aiden told us."

"Didn't someone tell him about it?" enquired Jaune.

"I went to. Except when I found him, I heard him talking to someone on a phone. He's not coming." Bounty made to step into the airship, but Jaune held him back.

"What do you mean he's not coming? Who was he talking to?"

"His wife. She's pregnant. He's not coming."

* * *

After their meeting with Ozpin, Pyrrha, Nora and Ren met up with team RWBY at the Beacon launch pad. Having explained their failed attempt to gain the Headmaster's help, the two teams decided there was little to be done except to take a bullhead into Vale and do whatever they could to prevent, or at least reduce the impacts of, the Breach. The sun had set by then, but the city was still ablaze with enough lights to easily navigate by. Pyrrha's stomach flipped as she realised these same lights would act as homing beacons if Atlas attacked at night. She wondered if the city would be ablaze with a different sort of light if that happened.

"So what's the plan?" asked Ruby, sitting with her team opposite team NPR.

"I… I'm not entirely sure," admitted Pyrrha.

"Jauney told us to stop the Breach, so that's what we'll do," insisted Nora.

"But we don't even know where the Breach will occur," pointed out Blake.

"It is possible the Breach refers to a breach in the walls protecting Vale," offered Ren. "A large enough hole would allow plenty of Grimm to enter the city. Perhaps that is the intention of Cinder."

"The walls surrounding Vale are hundreds of miles long. I sincerely hope you are not suggesting we attempt to cover every square foot of them." scoffed Weiss.

"So we need to find out where the Breach will happen," decided Ruby. "So, um, how do we do that?"

"Guys," Yang cut in. "I might have an idea. I have a friend who supposedly knows everything in this city. If anyone knows where this Cinder person plans to attack, he will."

"I suppose it's the best plan we've got," sighed Pyrrha.

The pilot soon set them down in Vale, and Yang led the way to her informant. The streets around them became steadily darker and darker, the street lamps slowly winking out of existence as they trekked onwards, leaving the darkness to watch their every step. Heaps of trash began to pile up on either side of them, and more than once Pyrrha spotted the rubbish piles shuddering as some unidentified creature scurried around inside.

This was the poorest and most rundown part of Vale; a derelict neighbourhood abandoned by the Council and left to be run by the inhabitants as they saw fit. The place was infamous for possessing some of the highest murder rates in the city and the least reputable people. And even though the inhabitants were almost undoubtedly all sleeping, the air was still tense with a certain watchfulness as the intruders passed through the hostile territory.

Though Pyrrha told herself she was being silly and paranoid, she couldn't help but glance over her shoulder every couple of steps, as if hoping to catch the malicious darkness creeping up on them. Unsurprisingly, her companions were all doing the same. All of them except Yang, that was, who strutted down the menacing street as if she owned the place, merrily whistling an upbeat tune. Pyrrha supposed that when the girl could likely beat up the entire neighbourhood with barely breaking a sweat, she was entitled to a little cockiness, but nonetheless Pyrrha keep her hand close to her weapon. Huntress or not, arrogance was an emotion she couldn't afford to feel right now.

At long last they came upon a nightclub. In stark contrast to the oppressiveness of the street it sat on, the club had a bright, neon-lit exterior that proudly announced the place as 'Junior's bar and nightclub'. Loud music blared through the closed double entrance doors at such a volume that Pyrrha felt the vibrations of it in her teeth. The place was, if not welcoming, then at least bold and attractive, a glowing pearl hidden within the muck of the sea floor.

Besides Pyrrha, Ruby groaned. "Not this place again."

"Come on Rubes," laughed Yang. "This place loves me."

"After what you did last time I doubt they'll be very pleased to see you."

"What did you do last time?" inquired Pyrrha.

"More importantly just how many times have you been clubbing here exactly?" demanded Weiss.

"Relax guys," said Yang. "I'll just go in there and get the information I need. Nothing else, I promise. Wait for me out here, yeah?" And with that Yang spun on her heel and sashayed into the club, letting the doors swing shut behind her.

"What did she do last time?" asked Pyrrha again, slightly more worried than before.

"Don't ask," said Ruby. The answer wasn't comforting.

A second later the music screeched to a halt. Pyrrha tensed, fearing Yang was in trouble, but Ruby simply sighed. "It's happening again," she groaned.

"No seriously, someone please tell me what happened last time."

The group waited a couple of minutes, before Yang finally strolled out of the club with a colourful cocktail perched in one hand. "See, no problem guys."

"Well?" asked Weiss.

Yang took a long sip before answering. "Junior said he doesn't know anything about a Breach."

Pyrrha sighed. "Back to square one."

"But," Yang continued, "he said that there is someone who might know."

"Who?" demanded Ruby. "And where can we find him?"

"You'll never guess who," grinned Yang. And then, just to drag out the tension, Yang downed her drink before answering. "It's none other than your old buddy, Roman Torchwick." Ruby gasped. Pyrrha started. Roman Torchwick was notorious as one of, if not _the,_ most successful criminals in Vale. Almost everyone in the city knew about the self-acclaimed king of the underworld, and they all knew equally well to avoid him. Sound advice for anyone who wasn't facing mass genocide and was utterly out of options.

"But… but Torchwick's a bad guy," protested Ruby.

"And also the only person who might be able to give us a fighting chance of stopping the Breach," pointed out Yang.

"Two bad options," mused Ren. "It is up to us to find the lesser of the two evils."

Pyrrha tried to think it through, but deep down she knew her choice was made. "We have to find him," she declared, though she felt dirty for even suggesting it. It felt like she was selling out some moral part of her that knew this was wrong, but what other choice did they have? This was bigger than some petty thief, however wanted he was. This was about the fate of Vale, and she refused to let thousands of people die whilst she still had a chance of preventing it.

"As much as I hate to admit this, Pyrrha's right," agreed Weiss. "If Torchwick knows anything about the Breach that could help us prevent it, we need to convince him to share it. That means, despite my aversion to this course of action, we can't arrest him."

"So the scum of the city gets to crawl back to its hiding spot and live to terrorise Vale another day," muttered Blake bitterly.

"At least there will still be a city for him to terrorise," argued Ren.

"Urgh, you're right," groaned Ruby. "If Torchwick knows how to save Vale, then… then I guess I won't try to arrest him."

"A group of Huntsmen-in-training meeting with criminals in the dead of night," sniffed Weiss. "Oh how the mighty have fallen."

"Just think of how cool it'll be though!" enthused Nora. "It'll be like all those spy movies; a shady deal in the dead of night. The heroes, out of their depths and surrounded by enemies. But somehow, despite all that, they manage to turn the tables and kick the butts of all the villains there!"

"Minus the butt-kicking," Ren reminded her. "We need to make it clear we mean no harm to Torchwich, or else he might flee before the meeting even begins."

"How do we even find him?" asked Blake.

"Junior said he'd get in touch with him. If Torchwick agrees, he'll set up a meeting in an hour. He's given me a location to go to where Torchwick is supposed to meet us."

"And if he doesn't agree?"

"Then I've promised Junior I'll come back here and kick his ass until he convinces Torchwick to do so."

"I should have guessed," said Blake, rolling her eyes.

"Well then, we better not keep Torchwick waiting," said Pyrrha. "Let's go."

* * *

The warehouse was dark. Pyrrha should have known a renown criminal mastermind would have set up their meeting place to be dark. Pyrrha knew it shouldn't matter so much; after all, they had Blake, whose Faunus eyes could see in the dark probably better than Torchwick himself. But nonetheless Pyrrha didn't like not being able to see her enemy.

The group edged into the abandoned warehouse, gingerly stepping around house-sized stacks of containers in the near pitch-black. Only narrow slivers of moonlight sliced the darkness to prevent them from bumbling into each other. Pyrrha would have pulled out a scroll and used it as a light source, except for the fact that as much as she hated not being able to see enemies, she hated being _seen_ by her enemies even more. Currently, the darkness helped to hide them. A light source would not only ruin their night vision, but also act as a beacon, revealing their location to anyone else who might be present in the warehouse.

Eventually the group rounded a corner and came to a halt. In front of them a single orange glow flared briefly, before dimming again. A cigarette. Or perhaps a cigar. Behind the glow Pyrrha could just make out the outline of a tall man in a trench coat, a bowler hat on his head and a cane in his hand, which he appeared to be leaning on.

"Torchwick," growled Ruby.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't little Red," drawled Roman Torchwick. "And look, you've brought your friends along this time. How sweet. I suppose I should feel flattered if you think you need seven Huntsmen to take me in."

"We're not here to arrest you," stated Pyrrha evenly.

"Good, because I very much doubt you'd be able to."

Pyrrha could practically hear Ruby's teeth grinding together. "What if we were," she gritted out. "It's seven against one. What's to stop us from taking you down?"

"Ruby," warned Weiss.

"After everything you've done, it would be our duty to bring you in," spat Blake.

"Blake!" berated Weiss.

"Oh yes, that's right little kitty-cat. There's no way I can beat you all on my own. Why didn't I think of that? I suppose that means I should just hand myself over to you." Pyrrha heard rather than saw the smirk on Torchwick's face. "Except, of course, for one teeny-tiny problem."

"What's that?" Ruby demanded.

"I'm not on my own."

Something small rocketed through the air.

Years of training had Pyrrha acting in an instant. She read the rush of air not as a breeze but as an attack. Leaping forward to meet it on pure instinct alone, Pyrrha's shield slammed against two heeled feet. Lifting her eyes up the length of the shadowy legs, Pyrrha found a diminutive girl staring back. And although Pyrrha couldn't be sure in the dark, the girl seemed to wink at her.

Behind Pyrrha and directly in the path of the girl's kick, Ruby gasped.

Pyrrha slashed upwards with her sword, but the girl backflipped away, using Pyrrha's own shield as a springboard. The girl performed one final cartwheel before turning back to them and bowing mockingly, now standing next to Torchwick.

"You bastard…" roared Yang, rushing forward.

"Stop!" commanded Pyrrha, throwing her shield arm in front of Yang and blocking her path to Torchwick and the girl. Pyrrha looked directly at Torchwick as she put her sword and shield away and said, "We're not here to arrest you. We're here to talk."

Roman didn't make a sound for a long moment. But then slowly, quietly, he began to chuckle. The chuckle grew and grew, until eventually the criminal was in stitches and bent double. "Oh boy, I think I like you, kid. Not many people can stand up to Neo like that and live to tell the tale." Pyrrha could have sworn the Neo girl actually pouted at that. "Say, your kitty-cat is trying to kill me."

Pyrrha turned to see Blake edging closer to Torchwick. "Oh for heaven's sake, Blake," cried Weiss, marching forward and dragging the Faunus back. "I expected this of Ruby, maybe, but you? Pull yourself together."

Grumbling back about something Pyrrha chose not to hear, Blake finally stood down.

"Well, if you're not here to bring me to justice and show me the error of my ways, I suppose we hardly need this cloak and dagger setup anymore." In an instant the room was flooded with harsh, white light. All seven of them were blinded, and Pyrrha could have sworn she heard Blake _hiss_ as her extra sensitive eyes struggled to adjust to the suddenly brightly-lit room.

"Bastard," spat Blake, rubbing her watering eyes, even as Torchwick laughed his arse off yet again.

"Now that all the pleasantries are out the way," continued Roman once he'd regained his composure, "I suppose we'd better get this meeting underway. Let me tell you, kiddies, this is your lucky day, because ordinarily I wouldn't have even wasted my time showing up here, let alone talking to a bunch of wannabe heroes."

"Then why are you here?" demanded Weiss.

"Trust me ice queen, I almost didn't come. But this isn't an ordinary day, now is it? And when my old buddy Junior calls me up and tells me some brats are looking to get some information from me, that perks my curiosity. Still not enough to risk a meeting, mind you. But then he goes and mentions that you're looking for a certain Cinder, and doesn't that go and change everything."

"You know her?" demanded Blake.

"Cinder Fall: human, black hair, orange eyes, big temper and a bigger ego. Hails from Mistral, or so she claims. Oh I know her alright. I used to work for her."

"You did what?!" gasped Ruby.

"A couple of months ago, Cinder and her societal rejects come strolling into Vale looking for me. Isn't long before she tracks me down and makes me an offer to either work for her stealing dust or face the consequences."

"And you accepted?" demanded Nora.

"I'd have been an idiot not to, Carrot-top. That woman was dangerous, and I knew it. I figured it'd be better to work for her and be unhappy than to work against her and be dead."

"The great Roman Torchwick working as a henchman," sneered Blake. "Must have hurt your ego to be someone else's lapdog."

"At least I was alive," growled Torchwick. "Especially seeing as every Huntsman who's ever crossed her has ended up six feet under. Besides, I consoled myself in the fact that despite how much Cinder tried to pretend she was top dog, I always got the sense that she was working for someone else. That someone else was calling the shots."

"Salem," breathed Pyrrha.

"Ah, so that's Cinder's boss. Don't recognise the name, though maybe that's because Salem's from Mistral…"

"She's not from Mistral," corrected Pyrrha. She looked around at the others for confirmation to go on, then said, "She's a Grimm."

Roman stared at Pyrrha for a long moment, then burst out laughing. "Yeah, sure she is. And I'm the king of Vacuo."

"No, she really—" began Pyrrha, but then she stopped herself. Roman wouldn't believe her, and it wasn't important anyway. Right now, they needed to worry more about Cinder than Salem.

"You said you used to work for Cinder," said Ren. "What happened?"

"Well, see, we're a couple of months into our little arrangement, and things are going smoothly. I'm robbing dust stores left, right and centre, leaving the police stumped, that sort of thing. You know how it goes. Then, out of the blue, she goes silent. And I mean dead silent. I don't even get so much as a text from her bossing me around. It's like she no longer needs me."

"Sounds like you were made redundant," smirked Weiss.

"Not likely," scoffed Torchwick. "I robbed just about every dust store in Vale under her orders, but before she even takes the dust off my hands any contact I had with her disappears. I'll tell you what happened: the plan changed."

"Plan?" asked Pyrrha.

"Seems to me, Cinder was collecting enough dust to fuel an army. I'd assumed the original plan had been to give it all to the White Fang and unleash them on Vale." At this, a small gasp of breath escaped Blake. "But clearly, that changed. I've sent some feelers out, and it seems she's even cut off her ties with those nut-job Faunuses."

"They're not nut-jobs," insisted Blake. "They're just misguided individuals."

"Oh sure, kitty-cat. Whatever makes it easier to sleep at night, right? Point is, the White Fang were ready to attack Vale when Cinder suddenly disappeared. She could have used them for whatever her master plan was, but she didn't. That could only mean she, or Salem, or whoever no longer needed their own army to do whatever they wanted to do."

"Because they had Atlas's," Weiss realised.

"Bingo, ice queen."

"Hate to interrupt," cut in Yang. "But don't forget why we actually came here, gang. We need to know where the Breach will happen."

"Is that what they called it? The Breach? I suppose it does sound pretty catchy, don't ya think, Neo?" The smaller girl bobbed her head enthusiastically. Pyrrha was beginning to notice she didn't speak much.

"So you know where it is then?" asked Yang.

"That part of the plan at least, doesn't seem to have changed," said Torchwick. The ginger thief pulled out a fresh cigar, lit it, then inhaled deeply and blew a haze of smoke their way that had Pyrrha's eyes watering. Then he continued. "Back when I was robbing dust stores, Cinder had me storing a fair amount of the stolen goods at Mountain Glenn."

"Mountain Glenn?" asked Yang. "What's that?"

"I have heard of it," answered Ren. "It's the failed expansion effort of Vale."

"A-plus for you, bucko. Mountain Glenn is completely abandoned by the authorities, making it a lovely little place to set up your criminal hideout. Except Cinder wasn't hiding the dust in the ruins, oh no. She was hiding it underground."

"Urgh, why does everything have to be so convoluted," complained Nora. "Can't evil plans just make sense for once!"

"In the underground tunnels of the city," realised Ren. "In the subway system," he clarified when the others sent him questioning glances. "Mountain Glenn had an elaborate underground metro system when it was still a thriving colony."

"You really have done your homework, huh kid? Well either way he's right. And take a wild guess where those old subway systems lead."

"Into Vale," breathed Ruby.

"And all the dust already there would be enough to cause an explosion powerful enough to break into Vale," gasped Weiss.

"Not just one explosion," corrected Torchwick. "But dozens. Each one calculated to blow holes into the roof of the tunnels and let the Grimm come swarming in. Course, old pyromaniac Cindy never saw fit to inform me on any of this, but it wasn't hard to put two and two together, especially after I did some digging on my own. And wouldn't you know it, the psychopath wants to destroy Vale. How very original."

The last piece of the puzzle finally slid into place for Pyrrha. Cinder would blow an opening for the Grimm directly into the city, not through the outer walls, but through the very ground itself. The Grimm would immediately start a panic, drawing even more in, and just like that the killing would begin. It would be a massacre. A city-wide massacre. The initial few minutes would be the worst, as defenceless civilians were cut down in their hundreds. Then, just as the authorities devoted every resource to containing and repelling the Breach, the second phase of the plan would occur. Atlas' attack. Pyrrha knew instinctively that Salem would wait until Vale had abandoned their outer defences to stop the Breach before invading, leaving nothing to stop the Atlesian fleet from levelling the city and everyone in it.

Then the real genocide would begin.

Pyrrha felt the world tilting perilously around her, then the next second she was on her knees, panting hard. Ren and Nora's worried faces swam into view, but Pyrrha barely recognised them. Couldn't even hear what they said.

That someone would be willing to do this, to murder an entire city, made her sick to her core. No, worse. It made every cell of her body heave and gag, made her very soul shudder and shake.

She'd thought humanity was good. That they were the light to fight the darkness of the Grimm. She'd trusted that. She'd trusted wrong. Cinder was human. Was human, and yet acted worse than any Grimm could ever do. At least they were mindless. At least they were evil by nature. Cinder had _chosen_ to kill thousands. And for what? Some precious item? The right to rule a pit of rubble?

But even as the question passed her mind, she knew the answer. To end humanity. To kill every man, woman and child in Vale and leave the survivors to be torn apart by the Grimm. That was Salem's master plan, she knew. That was the end goal. The death of Man. And if her Breach succeeded, she'd be one quarter of the way there already.

The extinction of mankind and everything they'd created. That was what faced them now. All the good humans had created, all their dreams and goals and achievements would be ground into nothing more than dust. The thought was horrifying. The thought was unfair. The thought was…

Enraging.

Man, who had survived so much, who had accomplished so much, was about to disappear because of the desires of a Grimm monster and the actions of a human one. Unacceptable. It couldn't end like this, not after so long. It wouldn't. Pyrrha wouldn't let it. _They_ wouldn't let it.

Pyrrha glanced up at the scared faces of her companions, and her head was finally clear as she stated, "We're going there. We're going to stop this. Right now."

"I'm sure we can find an old schematic of the city showing where the old subway tunnels are," offered Weiss.

"Can we stop the Breach from happening?" demanded Pyrrha.

Weiss hesitated. It was Ren who answered. "With all the dust they have, we wouldn't be able to prevent them from blowing a hole into Vale, and Mountain Glenn is too far away to get them from behind before the attack."

"Then we get there before them and hold them off for as long as we can," decided Pyrrha.

"Ease up on the gas there, kiddies," interjected Roman. "Cinder won't attack yet."

"How can you be sure?" demanded Blake.

"Because I know that sick psychopath, at least better than most people. She'll want the attack to kill as many civilians as possible. That means she'll wait until the streets are busy with commuters before starting. I don't know about you, but the dead of night really doesn't seem like the busiest of times to me."

"She must be planning to attack in the morning," declared Weiss. "When all the commuters begin heading to work."

"That gives us enough time to begin evacuating civilians from the vicinity," said Ren.

"To where?" asked Yang. "The rest of the city's not going to be much safer when Atlas attacks. And how will we even get people out without causing a panic and bringing more Grimm?"

"One problem at a time, people," Weiss reminded them. "We need to deal with the Breach first, then worry about Atlas."

"We could say there's a gas leak," suggested Nora. "That'll at least stop them panicking."

"Well, sounds to me like you kiddies have it all figured out," announced Torchwick, spinning on his heel. "I'll leave you to it then."

"Wait," called Ruby. "Aren't you going to help?"

"Fight against Cinder? Ha, as if. You can go ahead with all that heroism BS and get yourselves turned into shish kebabs; Neo and I are getting somewhere safe."

"You could at least help use evacuate defenceless civilians," snapped Weiss.

"And risk getting recognised and thrown into jail? I don't think so, ice queen. If there's one thing I've learnt in this life, it's that you have to look after number one. Worrying about anything else will just get you killed."

A thought suddenly struck Pyrrha. "If that's the case, then why tell us any of this? Why help us protect Vale at all?"

"Don't get too excited, champ. Cinder wants to destroy Vale and everyone in it. The only reason I've told you anything is because it's in my best interest to put you in between me and her. Besides, it's bad for business if there's no one left alive to steal from."

"If you intended to tell us what you know all along, then why did Neo try to attack me?" demanded Ruby.

"First, as a warning not to try anything on me," grinned Torchwick. "And second, I didn't want to waste my time explaining this all to you if you were only going to get killed the moment Cinder decided to swat you away."

"You… you were testing me," realised Pyrrha.

"Well don't we just have a class of academics here," smirked Torchwick. "Of course I'd heard about the invincible girl. Even I've picked up a box of Pumpkin Pete's Marshmallow Flakes before. I just wanted to make sure your reputation was well earnt. Judging by the way you reacted to Neo, I'd say you might even last a few minutes against Cinder. Best of luck with that by the way." And with that he marched out of the warehouse. Neo did one final mock curtsy their way, then spun elegantly around and skipped after Roman.

"When this is over," growled Ruby, "I'll bring you down."

"Uh-huh, sure thing little Red," dismissed Torchwick from the doorway. "Now run along and go play Huntress with your friends. If you survive this, I might even consider you a potential threat. Until then." And with that, Torchwick strolled out into the night and disappeared.

"Forget them," advised Weiss, drawing Pyrrha's attention away from the vanishing thief. "We need to focus on stopping Cinder."

"You're right," accepted Ruby with a sigh, though she still threw one last glance at where Torchwick had walked out. "We'll split into pairs and go around evacuating nearby buildings to the old subway entrance. Me and Weiss, Blake and Yang, Nora and Ren, and Pyrrha an—oh…"

"I will be fine on my own," Pyrrha quickly stepped in, trying to cover for Ruby's mistake. "We must work quickly if we are to save as many people as possible. We only have a few hours until dawn."

"Let's get to work then," nodded Ruby.

The group ran as quickly as they could to the old subway entrance, using the maps Weiss dug up on her scroll to navigate. They soon found themselves standing on a raised square, in front of which Weiss assured them was the plugged entrance. Except it wouldn't be plugged for much longer.

Pyrrha stared around her in disbelief. The entire neighbourhood was residential. All around them were blocks of flats as far as the eye could see. How could they possibly get everyone out in time?

The group quickly split up, rushing to evacuate as many people as possible. Pyrrha immediately ran for the nearest building and began hammering on doors, shouting at their inhabitants to get out. Then, when that took too long, she simply smashed the fire alarm and began ordering people to get away from the area.

Pyrrha worked like this on into the night, never stopping for even a moment to catch her breath or have a drink. There was simply too little time. She ran from building to building, door to door, banging on wood until her fists ached and screaming to evacuate until her voice went hoarse. Then she worked some more. Even as the sky slowly morphed from black to navy blue to azure and the stars slowly winked out of existence like the extinguishing of hope, still Pyrrha refused to stop.

But as Pyrrha finally glanced out a window and spotted the horizon stained with yellow light, she finally stumbled to a halt.

What was the point? Even if she got everyone in the area to leave their homes, that would still leave just seven students to defend against a Grimm onslaught of goodness knew what size for goodness knew how long. They were just children for heaven's sake. And she may have been called the invincible girl, but Pyrrha knew better than anyone that she had limits. And she was close to reaching them. Not just physically, but mentally as well. The desperation and the hopelessness were unbeatable weights dragging her to the ground, slowly crushing her spirit. She'd never felt so helpless in all her life.

Even if, through some twist of fate, they were able to hold off the Grimm, what good would that do when Atlas was about to attack and destroy everything? How could they fight against such a force of nature as that?

It just wasn't possible.

But even as Pyrrha felt her strength flag, something kept her from keeling over from exhaustion right there and then. People needed her. Even if it was ultimately hopeless, even if she knew the evacuation might be all for nought, Pyrrha had to try. These civilians, whether they knew it or not, were relying on her to save them. And whether she could save all of them or none of them, she couldn't give up.

She could accept failure. But she could never accept not trying. Even if it was her destiny to die today, then at least she'd die trying to save other people.

So Pyrrha worked on. Even as hope slowly sputtered out inside of her and despair became her only companion, still she worked to save lives. And as the sun slowly peeked its first searing rays over the horizon, Pyrrha knew her time was up. There was nothing left for her to do but pray. Pray that she'd done enough. Pray that those people would be safe.

Pray for a miracle.

And pray she did.

* * *

 **You know, you only realise just how many characters RWBY has when you have to try to write about them all in a story. You don't want to ignore too many, or else readers wonder what happened to certain characters, but you also don't want to just shove them in unnecessarily. Roman and Neo have made a short appearance here due to their connections with Cinder, but unlike in the original show they aren't a part of her plans. Also teams NPR and RWBY are getting ready for the Breach, an event which everyone who's seen the show should have seen coming, but nonetheless I still had to write the characters finding out what it is for themselves, otherwise it's too unbelievable to assume they just show up at the right place at the right time to stop it.**

 **Finn's also been left behind, and it was Bounty of all people who insisted on this. I wonder how many people actually figured out that Jasmine (Finn's wife) was pregnant. I did leave a few clues throughout the story, and some people might have just guessed it anyway. P** **lease tell me in a review whether you saw this coming a mile off or if it was a surprise for you; I'd be interested to see if I should be making reveals more or less obvious.**

 **The battle of Vale is looming. Our heroes are split up to face the multi-pronged attack from Salem, Cinder and Watts. Can they succeed, or is Vale doomed? Find out in the next chapter of Sergeant Arc.**


	23. Chapter 23 - One way ticket to Hell

**The story continues...**

* * *

" _Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well-trained, well equipped and battle-hardened. He will fight savagely"_

 _General Dwight D. Eisenhower_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Three—One way ticket to Hell**

They'd left him.

Such a simple sentence. So short. Just three, little words that upended Finnegan's entire world. That shattered everything he'd trusted in until now.

They'd left him.

The realisation whirled around Finnegan like a vortex, hurtling through his mind and trashing every other sensical thought so that only one, damning phrase was left behind. One phrase that Finnegan had never once imagined he'd be forced to face.

They'd left him.

After everything they'd been through, after all they'd accomplished together, Finn had been tossed aside the moment they'd no longer needed him. They, the people Finn had almost been stupid enough to call his friends. They, who had been lying the whole time; who hadn't given half a shit about him. Who had decided they didn't want his traitorous arse anywhere near them. Who had probably never felt an ounce of affection for him. Who had _left him behind_.

Finn surged to his feet from where he sat on his bed and lashed out with a foot at its metal frame. The bed rattled loudly in the too empty dormitory. He stormed out of the room and into the brightening pre-dawn sky, not knowing or caring where his feet were taking him, just needing to be out of that damned dorm.

Finn had awoken some time in the early morning to find himself utterly alone in a suffocatingly silent dormitory. It had taken him a few minutes to realise it hadn't been a joke. Then a few more to realise his section wasn't coming back. They'd taken their few belongings with them, leaving the room a barren reminder that his team had abandoned him. He couldn't be reminded of that fact for a second longer.

As Finn walked, his anger stewed, his thoughts feeding the molten vat of resentment in his stomach. He'd been an idiot. A god damned, sparkly-eyed idiot. He'd let his guard down; let himself grow attached to the people around him, even forming what might have resembled a friendship with them. And then they'd turned around and spat in his face. He should have known better. He should never have gotten so close to any of them; all it had done was make him easier to hurt.

How could he have fooled himself into thinking they actually cared about him? Everything they'd done together, all that time they'd shared, it had all been a charade. An act. He wasn't a part of the group. He wasn't a real member of Beta section; at best he'd been an unwanted tag-along, and now that they didn't need him anymore they'd ditched him the first chance they'd had.

Well fine. He didn't need them. He didn't need any of them. Let them go running off to god-knew-where to do god-knew-what. He didn't care.

Unconsciously, Finn's feet had been carrying him towards the colonel's bunker. He noticed the two guards who normally manned the entrance were nowhere to be seen. Finn ignored it, his mind too preoccupied to pay much attention to anything other than his smouldering rage. But as he passed across the entrance to the bunker a voice drifted out to him. It wasn't what it said that caught Finn's attention; he couldn't even make it out. It wasn't even that the voice was raised, almost to an angry shout. No, what caused Finn to pause, then duck into the bunker and slink closer to the colonel's open door, was who the voice belonged to.

Field Sergeant Winchester.

Finn edged closer to where the voices emanated from, straining to make out the conversation.

"Me an' Georgie tried to stop 'em," came a muffled voice. "But they jumped us. By the time we came to they'd already nicked the ship, sir."

Finn scowled. He had absolutely zero uncertainty as to who had stolen the ship. Who else would have been crazy enough to do such a thing except for Jaune and the others. He could only imagine what madness they'd decided they needed a ship for. Well now they were traitors, deserters _and_ thieves. Good riddance to the lot of them.

"Requesting permission to go after my section, sir." That voice was definitely Winchester, who sounded even more pissed-off than usual. Perhaps not surprising, considering the fact that Jaune—and Finn had no doubt it was Jaune leading them—had stolen the section that was supposed to be under Winchester's command.

"Negative soldier, we can't afford to spare another ship for a single section," replied what must have been the colonel.

"With all due respect, sir, if we don't apprehend these deserters, others may find the coward's option increasingly attractive," argued Winchester. "One or two soldiers deserting you may be able to sweep under the rug, but a whole section? Word will travel, and if you don't take action to track down and punish the perpetrators, some of the weaker soldiers may take their chances and follow their lead. Before long, you might have half your army up and leaving."

So Winchester was trying to go after Beta section? Finn couldn't say he was surprised. Winchester clearly had a bone to pick with Jaune, and after Cat had humiliated him yesterday, he wouldn't be surprised if Winchester was trying to get even with them. Not that he cared, of course.

"That is a possibility," hummed the colonel.

"Sir, give me one ship and thirty-six hours, and I'll have them back here for you. Surely the army could spare that little to retrieve seven soldiers and to remind others that desertification will not be accepted."

The colonel paused to think, then relented. "Very well then. Field Sergeant Winchester, I give you the authority to bring in the rogue members of Beta section. You can take your pick from the airships we have available here."

"Thank you, sir. I won't let you down."

So that was that then. No doubt Winchester would stop at nothing to find Jaune and the others. And once that happened he'd drag them kicking and screaming back to base.

Well see if Finn cared. They could be brought back in chains and it wouldn't make an ounce of difference to him. He didn't have the slightest scrap of pity for them. They meant nothing to him. Nothing.

"And Winchester," added the colonel. "If they do resist arrest… you have my permission to execute them as traitors. We cannot allow others to follow their example."

Shit.

Finn spun around and hauled arse out of the bunker. He stood in the pre-dawn light, gasping deeply. Holy shit. The colonel was insane. He was sending Cardin to kill Beta section. And he _would_ have to kill them. Finn had spent weeks with those people. They wouldn't come quietly. Not at all.

It didn't matter, he told himself. They were already dead to him. They didn't give a damn about him, so he didn't give a damn about them. He didn't mind… letting them… die…

"What are you doing out here soldier?" a voice demanded. Finn froze, then turned around very slowly. Behind him, Field Sergeant Winchester stood in the doorway to the colonel's bunker, his arms crossed and clearly waiting for an answer. "Hey, you're from Jau—I mean my section? What are you doing he—?"

"You're going after Beta section," Finn blurted out. Idiot. Stupid, stupid idiot.

Winchester's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"

Finn tried to keep his mouth sealed shut, but he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Are you going to kill them?"

"Were you eavesdropping on m—"

"Are you?" Finn demanded.

Winchester pursed his lips. "That depends."

Oh shit.

That… that was fine. He… he didn't care. He didn't give a damn. So what if they died? So what if—

"I want to go with you," blurted Finn.

Winchester faltered. "What?"

"I know Beta section better than anyone. I know what they're likely to do and how they're likely to do it. I also know how slippery they are. If you want to stand a chance of catching them, you need me."

Winchester regarded him suspiciously. "How do I know you won't try to help them?"

Finn laughed bitterly. "Because they hate me. Why do you think they left me behind? I don't owe those pricks anything, least of all my loyalty."

Winchester appraised Finn long and hard, before finally nodding once. "Fine then. I'm sure I can find a use for you."

Those pricks owed him. Big time. He was sticking out his neck for those jerks, bending over backwards to keep them alive. And for what? Finn wasn't even sure. He knew he didn't owe them anything, but goddammit he couldn't just let them die. For whatever reason, Finn couldn't let it end like this.

"So how exactly do you plan on finding them?" inquired Finn.

"We put a tracker on the Atlesian ship before they stole it. It was too valuable a find to leave without some means of finding it. We're going to follow that."

Finn nodded, and the unlikely duo went to find a ship. As they boarded a sleek looking vessel and Winchester began to go through the pre-flight checks, Finn felt himself steeling himself for what was to come. Whether they wanted him or not, Finn would be with Beta section again. And when he got there, he'd have to make sure Winchester didn't go all trigger-happy on them.

Finn scoffed silently at the irony of it all. They'd left him behind, and now he was coming to save their sorry arses.

God damn it all.

* * *

"How much longer until we reach Salem?" asked Jaune.

"A couple of hours," answered Phil, looking up from the console he was working at. "We should be there around dawn."

Jaune collapsed into the pilot's chair in the cockpit of the airship. He was exhausted, and not just from the lack of sleep the night before. For the longest time he'd felt like he'd simply been bouncing from one danger straight into the next. Just how many more times could they escape Death's clutches before it finally caught up with them? "Where even is Salem? Someplace in Atlas?"

"Huh? Nah. The signal I traced during our call came from somewhere on Mimar."

"What?"

"Mimar. Y'know, the continent West of Atlas. The one that kinda looks like a wyvern, dragony, thingy."

"Oh right." Jaune had never exactly been the best at geography, but even he'd looked at a map before and noticed how the north-westerly continent had sort of looked like a dragon. He'd also noticed that it was the only large landmass without a Kingdom on it, excluding Menagerie, of course. At the time he'd overlooked that small fact, but if they were right about Salem being there, maybe it wasn't such a coincidence after all.

"Hey Jaune, you do have a plan for what we're gonna do once we're there, right?" asked Phil.

"We'll improvise," replied Jaune.

Phil sighed. "The usual, then."

Jaune grimaced. They really had been far too lucky so far. No matter how Jaune looked at it, logic and reason dictated they should have all died a gruesome and painful death in the forest. What if the universe had simply been holding its hand, letting Beta section go on clinging to life for a short while longer, only to then abandon them to fall at the last hurdle, just when the end was in sight. Jaune didn't really believe in fate or destiny, but if there was such a thing he wouldn't be surprised to find it had a wicked sense of humour.

"You should probably try to catch some Z's before we arrive," advised Phil after a while.

"I don't think anyone's getting any sleep tonight," replied Jaune wearily. Despite Jaune's exhaustion, his mind was far too active to even consider sleep. Anxiety gnawed at his insides relentlessly, and his thoughts were a jumbled heap of semi-intelligible plans and half-conceived ideas that melded together into one giant blank.

"You nervous?" asked Phil.

"A little. You?"

"Definitely. One double oh percent."

"You don't look it," noted Jaune.

"Practice," explained Phil. "I always got the jitters before Huntsmen missions. I guess I just learnt to hide it better. Believe me, on the inside I'm freaking out like all heck. I mean, this is a bad idea. Like, a seriously bad idea. Like, straight up idiocy. Brave idiocy, sure, but still idiocy. I'd be surprised if we even succeed, let alone survive the whole darn thing. Like, I'm pretty sure the odds dictate we should all die in the first five minutes. And what chance do we even have if… sorry, I'll shut up now. But you get the idea."

That was exactly the problem. Jaune got the idea all too well.

"Y'know, some of the others might be feeling the same way right about now," said Phil after a pause. "They could probably do with some encouragement. They're scared. Heck, I'm scared. But I'm pretty sure some of them don't really believe we can come back from this."

"Can we come back from this?" Jaune asked.

"I choose to think so," Phil informed him. "I mean, I have to. If I can't imagine a scenario where I come home after this, then how can that ever happen? Pessimism never led to success."

"What should I even say to them?" asked Jaune. "Should I give them a grand speech? I might not be so good at that."

"You don't have to give them a speech. Just… talk to them. Be with them. I think they'll take courage from that."

Once more, Phil was right. Jaune was the leader of this section; it was his job to keep them motivated. But more than that, they were his friends, and he wanted to make sure they were alright.

So Jaune excused himself from the cockpit after making sure Phil was ok to keep flying, then went to find the rest of his section. He found Naomi first, sitting in a compartment just behind the cockpit. She had her eyes closed and seemed to be sleeping, but when he sat next to her, her eyelids fluttered open. Looked like he wasn't the only one struggling to sleep.

"Hey, Naomi. How are you holding up?"

"Well, considering our current predicament: flying several hundred meters above sea-level on a collision course with an enemy of unknown capabilities and with little more of a plan than 'shoot her up', not to mention our less than favourable odds of success and immense probability of death; I suppose I could be doing worse," she answered.

Jaune sighed. Naomi's assessment was as stark as ever. "Aren't you worried about this?"

"Oh I am," she replied. "But not for me. I'm more anxious about the team. I… I don't want to lose anyone else."

A weight settled in Jaune's stomach. He was worried about that too. No, he was terrified of that happening. But Naomi probably had it worse than anyone. Her own brother had died in her arms. Jaune couldn't even begin to comprehend what she was going through, and it was a testament to how strong Naomi was that she was able to keep going after all that. But if she had to go through losing another person who was close to her… Jaune wasn't sure how much more Naomi could take. He wasn't sure how much more _he_ could take. He'd already lost too much.

"I'm sure the others are afraid of that too," Jaune told her. "I think deep down, none of us mind dying for the others. But it's the thought of being the one that survives that terrifies us." Jaune knew that, because it was the exact same fear that he had.

"I think you're right," agreed Naomi. "But what can we do about that?"

"Nothing," answered Jaune. "But if these are going to be our last few moments, then I think they'll be better spent together."

Naomi smiled. "You know Jaune, you're incredibly poetic when you want to be."

"Am I?" Jaune had just been speaking from his heart.

"I think you're correct though. I assume that's why you're here. Showing your face to the troops, letting them know their commanding officer will fight with them to psychologically motivate them to keep going despite their fear."

"Something like that."

"Well good luck with that."

"What will you do?"

"I shall take a page from your book; if these are my last few moments on Remnant, then I want to spend them with someone I care about."

"Cat?" guessed Jaune.

Naomi nodded. "After all this time I swear I'm getting testosterone poisoning. I need to be around more oestrogen."

Jaune smiled to himself as Naomi walked out, then got to his feet. He still had a job to do. Being a leader didn't come with breaks after all.

* * *

"Hey Cat," Naomi greeted.

"Nuke," replied Cat curtly. Cat was sitting with her back ramrod straight and shoved against the wall behind her. Her fingers clutched the worn seat underneath her tightly, as if she were afraid to let go. Her breathing came out fast and shallow, and her eyes were clenched shut. All this Naomi noticed in the time it took to approach her.

"Hey, are you doing ok?"

"I'm fine," Cat lied.

"Are you positi—?"

"I'm fine," Cat insisted. Naomi hovered near her, unsure whether to push or not. Cat was evidently not fine. She was panicking, and only just managing to keep herself together. But Naomi wasn't sure whether pressing Cat for information would be a suitable course of action.

"You know I'm here for you if you need to talk."

"I don't need you," Cat spat, fear turning her words sharp. "Why would I ever need you?"

Naomi took a step back. Cat's words stung. Probably more than she'd meant them to. "If that's the way you feel…"

Cat finally opened her eyes, and they instantly widened as she realised she'd actually hurt her friend. "Wait, Nuke, I'm sorry," she rushed to apologise. "I didn't mean that. _Don't go_."

And there was something so fragile in that plea, so small and desperate, that Naomi hurriedly comforted, "I'm not going anywhere." Naomi sat next to Cat and took her clenched fist in her hands. She pried apart the vice-like fingers and interlaced them with her own, squeezing Cat's digits comfortingly. Cat squeezed back, almost enough to crush Naomi's bones, but some of the tension in Cat's body finally unwound at the point of shared human contact. Slowly Cat's breathing slowed and deepened, slipping back onto the right side of hyperventilation.

Naomi sat like that with Cat for a long time: how long, Naomi wasn't aware. But eventually, in a small voice, Cat mumbled, "You must think I'm such a baby for this."

"Not at all," replied Naomi truthfully. "You don't have to be the strongest at everything, Cat. You're allowed moments of weakness too."

"You seem fine."

"I'm not. I'm terrified of what's to come."

"Well at least you're keeping it together better than I am."

"And you kept yourself together better when we were first attacked by Atlas. And when we were trekking through the woods. And probably a lot better if we ever come across a snake." Naomi shivered, but continued. "Point is, everyone has fears, and we're entitled to them. That includes you too."

Cat didn't say anything at that, so Naomi just continued to hold her, gently brushing her finger over the back of her hand in what she hoped was a soothing manner.

"I didn't use to think that," Cat mumbled.

"Pardon?" asked Naomi.

"I used to think fear was your enemy, and that if you didn't conquer it, it would conquer you." Naomi looked over at Cat, but Cat was staring at the floor. "When I was a kid, I used to do everything I could to beat my fears. When I was scared of the dark, I spent a whole night awake in the pitch black of my room. When I was afraid of heights, I made myself climb to the top of every tree I could find. I ended up with a few broken bones, but it worked. I overcame every fear I had. Until one day I decided to face my biggest fear yet. The biggest fear of humanity."

Naomi's stroking stilled. "You didn't," she breathed.

"I snuck away from home when my parents weren't looking and went searching for it. I grew up in a village just outside Vale, so I didn't have to travel far to find one. I just went off into the woods."

"Oh Cat."

Cat took a shuddering breath. "The thing about my other fears was when I went to face them, they never fought back. The darkness was always just dark, and heights were always just high. But this time… this time when a little kid was too proud to tell anyone where she was going and too stupid to realise she was going to die… this time the fear attacked me. And this time I couldn't beat it."

"Cat…"

"I should have died that day. It should have killed me. It almost did. Only a nearby Huntress who by sheer dumb luck had been in the area dragged me back from the edge of the grave. I had to be sent via airship to a hospital in Vale it was so bad. The doctors didn't know if I was going to make it. But when I did recover, when I could finally get myself out of my own bed again, I knew… I knew I'd gone to fight my fear and had lost… and that no matter what I did, I'd never be able to beat it. I still have nightmares about that now."

"But you did beat it," insisted Naomi. "When we were attacked at the Atlas outpost, you fought them. You won."

"No I didn't!" shouted Cat, turning to face Naomi, and it was only then that Naomi realised how wet her eyes were. "I was still so afraid I almost didn't fight them. And when I finally did, I didn't do enough. I didn't go back for you or Jaune. I let my fear paralyze me. And because of me, Buzz died." A great, heaving sob wracked Cat's body. "Your brother died because of me, Nuke, and I can never ever, ever forget that."

"Cat…" Naomi didn't have the words to say what she wanted to say. So instead she simply wrapped her arms around Cat's shaking shoulders and enveloped her in a hug. Cat burrowed deeper into the hug, needing the contact, needing to be sure that she was here in this moment, and not there in the memory, watching helplessly as Buzz was killed. "I don't blame you for Buzz's death," Naomi tried to reassure her.

"You should," murmured Cat into her shoulder.

"I don't, so what does it matter what I should do?"

Eventually, Cat's shaking and sobbing subsided enough for her to pull away from Naomi and wipe at her eyes with her sleeve. "Now you know," she mumbled. "You know why I fear the Grimm so much. The one fear I could never overcome."

Naomi's heart was tearing open inside her chest. Tendons and muscle and tissue ripping apart as her heart bled for Cat. Cat, who was the bravest of them all, who had done so much for Naomi after her brother had died. Who was now reduced to little more than a small, terrified girl. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. That someone as strong and caring as Cat should be forced to do something that reduced her entire being so completely. And yet she'd still come regardless. She'd still risked her life, still gone to face her worst fears. For them.

"Why?" Naomi asked. "Why did you come?"

Cat's blue and green eyes looked directly into hers as she said, "I lost one brother because I let my fear paralyze me. I won't lose another sibling to the same mistake."

Naomi pulled Cat into a second hug. Cat was wrong. Cat wasn't a baby because she feared the Grimm. She was a woman because she was willing to face them. To go up against her nightmares despite everything that had happened to her.

The second hug lasted longer than the first, less a hug of comfort and more a hug of unity. Of sisterhood. But eventually Cat pulled away and held Naomi's shoulders. "Nuke… there's one more thing I need from you. A favour."

"Anything," promised Naomi.

"Nuke… I don't want to die by the Grimm."

"It won't come to that," Naomi reassured her. "We'll be fi—"

"No," Cat interrupted. "You're not listening. I don't want to die by the _Grimm_."

What? What did Cat mea—

Oh.

Naomi looked deep into Cat's steely gaze and saw nothing but resolve there. "Why me?" breathed Naomi.

"Because you're the only one I trust to be able to do it if the time comes." Cat took a shaky breath and tried for a watery smile. "Like you said, it probably won't come to that. But if it does… if I'm about to be eaten by a Grimm… you know what to do."

Naomi nodded, her eyes vision blurring as her eyes filled with water and she looked upon her sister for what might be one of the last times ever.

* * *

Whilst Naomi went to find to Cat, Jaune decided to talk to some of the others. He found Aiden first, the wolf Faunus as stoic as ever, calmly examining his new wrist blade with meticulous care. Aiden barely needed any encouragement at all; he'd made his decision to stick with his family, and he would see it through to whatever end, he'd told Jaune. But just before leaving, Aiden pointed Jaune towards Terry, who he claimed wasn't coping so well. Jaune found him scouring through every cupboard and container on the ship, muttering to himself about lacking supplies. It took Jaune a long while to calm him down enough to even sit down. Lastly, Jaune went in search of Bounty. He found the bearded man slouched in a seat in the cargo bay, his jovial mood unusually glum. Jaune didn't get very far with him before Bounty ordered him out, telling him to let him brood in peace if he so wished.

Just as Jaune was walking away from that conversation, Phil's voice filtered down from the cockpit, "Uhh, Jaune? You might wanna see this." Jaune hurried back to the cockpit to find Phil looking worriedly through the front cockpit windows. "Does, uh, does that look normal to you?"

Jaune peered through the glass. Below them, stretching endlessly in every direction, was a stormy grey ocean, vast and ancient as time itself. But just on the edge of the horizon in front of the airship, a dark shape began to materialise. A black smudge that began to grow and grow as the ship approached, gobbling down the sky and enveloping their view. As they got closer, Jaune was finally able to make out what it was. What had looked like a single ink splotch morphed into two distinct features: one, a shifting front of dark, brooding clouds that choked the air with soot and ash, and below that a mighty rampant of dark, glassy mountains. Obsidian, Jaune realised with a start. It was an obsidian keep. Hanging precariously between the two dark forms was a narrow patch of clear sky. The gap between the hammer and the anvil. The only way into the island fortress.

Jaune glanced at Phil worriedly, his gut churning uneasily at the sight. Phil too was transfixed by the unnatural sight before him, but he was able to gulp back his misgivings and move the ship into position to pass between the two dark forces of nature.

The mountain range approached, looming closer and closer. Jaune didn't know why exactly, but something had him leaning forward in his seat as the dark cliffs came to dominate his view. He needed to see what was on the other side. The ship glided over the tips of the mountain range, the black spires reaching up into the sky like grasping fingers to drag their ship into destruction. The ship reached the apex of its rise just as a midnight black peak seemed poised to tear their ship in two. Jaune sucked in a breath as the malicious point leaned towards their ship. The lance came closer and closer, seemingly mere inches away from piercing the cockpit glass and impaling Jaune through his heart. Closer, closer.

Then they passed the spike, the floor of the ship gobbling down the tip and hiding it from Jaune's view. Jaune's breath whooshed out of his lungs as they began their descent, and he suddenly felt silly for having believed something as simple as a landform had the malignant intent to destroy their ship. It was a piece of rock. Nothing more.

Jaune's attention turned back to the view ahead of him as they at last passed the obsidian wall that had barred their view and Jaune saw—

Oh god.

Next to him, Phil gasped. Jaune could only stare. The view that assaulted Jaune as he stared out the window was like nothing he'd ever seen before. It was… it was…

It was the end of the world.

That was the best way Jaune could describe it. It was a nightmare apparition of desolation and waste. A graveyard of razor-edged rock formations peppered with crystal fragments the colour of darkened purple that rose unevenly into the sky, creating a broken horizon of rocky clubs lying discarded by fallen giants. Jaune looked east, praying to find even a glimmer of the sun's warming rays permeating through the bleakness of the land, but even though he knew that it should have been around sunrise, Jaune saw nothing of the sun. Instead, where soft yellow light should have been spilling over the horizon, there were only blood-red clouds bathing in a maroon sky.

To Jaune, this place was the embodiment of where hope went to die. It was how he'd envisioned the world would look if evil won: eternally dark, eternally bleak. Nothing more left of mankind but the dust from where they'd come, and the dust they had returned to.

"Welcome to the Grimmlands," breathed Phil, and somehow, Jaune knew he was right. Only a land as hopeless as this could be the homeplace of the embodiment of evil on Remnant.

Jaune would have continued to stare in dumbfounded horror at the apocalyptic vision for hours more had it not been for the airship's radio suddenly crackling to life. Jaune froze. He thought the Valesian CCT was down, ruling out long range communication. That meant the transmission had to be coming from a local source.

"… _Arc… land… taking you… base,"_ came the garbled message.

"Cardin?" gasped Jaune. He snatched up a pilot's headset and called down the microphone, "Cardin, this is Jaune. What are you doing here?"

"… _Stolen… aircraft… land…"_ The static was too great to make out much more than that.

"What're your orders, Jaune?" asked Phil.

"We land," decided Jaune. "Cardin may be here to help. I'll find out what he wants."

"Do you need backup?"

"I'll be fine. You and the other stay on the ship while I talk to him."

Phil set the ship down as Jaune sent a reply to Cardin, telling him they were going to land. He hoped Cardin would be able to understand it amid the stream of static that would accompany it. The ship came to a gentle stop on a raised slab of rock, and Jaune walked through the ship to the cargo bay, where he somewhat apprehensively lowered the ramp and stepped out into the Grimmlands.

Outside the scenery was even more putrid. The air burned its way down Jaune's lungs, stinking of smoke, sulphur, and ash. Jaune's vision was limited to only a dozen meters ahead as a wind whipped up a maelstrom of dust from the ground and flung it into his face. Having seen the hellscape from the airship, Jaune had expected it to be unbearably hot. Instead, the air was inescapably cold. A cold that went beyond the skin. A bone-chilling cold that froze the very heart. Jaune's breath misted in front of him as he heaved in another poisonous breath.

Finally, Cardin's ship came into view, headlights sweeping through the smog-choked sky. The ship hovered above their landing spot, then descended and landed a little way away from their ship. Jaune began walking towards it even before the engines had fully switched off.

Cardin appeared in the entryway, his critical eyes taking in Jaune and his section. His mouth twisted into a disgusted sneer, then he jumped down and stalked towards Jaune. Jaune closed the distance between them, forming the words he wanted to say in his mind. The two got within ear range of each other but kept walking. "Cardin, what are you doing h—"

Bam!

Jaune's vision spun. The next thing he knew he was lying face down in the dust. Dully, Jaune's mind registered that he'd been hit in the head. By Cardin.

Strong hands latched onto Jaune's back and hauled him up. Jaune fought instinctively, dragging his hands through the loose ground but gaining no leverage. His body was heaved upright, leaving Jaune nose to nose with Cardin's furious face.

"You stole my section," he spat. "You couldn't bear the thought of being under me, so you stole my section just to shame me!"

"Not true," Jaune mumbled, his mind still muddled, though rapidly regaining his wits.

"Liar!"

Cardin reached back a menacing fist and Jaune acted. He hurled his two hands at Cardin, releasing the dust he'd hidden there when Cardin had pulled him off the ground. Two fistfuls of sediment flew straight into Cardin's eyes, blinding the larger boy. Cardin yelled out in pain, and in that moment Jaune planted his two feet against his chest and heaved, kicking himself free of the hand still holding his collar.

Jaune fell to the ground and rolled away, even as Cardin stamped around like a rampaging bull, scrubbing furiously at his face. Two, bloodshot eyes narrowed on Jaune as Cardin let out a furious snarl. He might have thrown himself at Jaune again, but at that moment a voice yelled from behind Cardin, "Stop!"

Jaune looked behind the enraged bully, his eyes widening as they beheld Finn, rushing up behind Cardin.

"Stop fighting, damnit," he hissed, putting a restraining hand on Cardin's arm but directed those words with a venomous glare at Jaune.

"Was it not enough to shame me in front of my men with the Atlesian prisoners?" Cardin snarled, ignoring the dark-skinned man next to him. "You had to shame me to my seniors as well by running off with my section?"

Jaune's attention snapped back to Cardin. Jaune could deal with Finn's arrival later. Right now he had to make sense of what Cardin was doing here. "Cardin, what are you talking about? This isn't about you."

"Like hell it isn't! You've made me look incompetent to the Valesian military. You've ruined my career!"

"Open your eyes, Cardin!" Jaune shouted, the pain in his cheek suddenly igniting into anger. Who was Cardin to come barrelling into Jaune's life to screw him up yet again? No matter how far Jaune ran, it seemed Cardin was never far behind, always on his tail to bring him down. "Look around! Does this look like a normal place to you? Does it look natural? These are the Grimmlands. I didn't run away to ruin your career, I came to kill a Grimm. To stop this war."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's too long to explain. But you just have to trust me."

"And just why," Cardin gritted out, "would I ever do that?"

"Because you owe me," spat Jaune. All the hatred for Cardin which he'd kept bottled up for so long was finally erupting out of him. Maybe it was this place, or maybe it was simply the fact that Cardin had hit him one too many times, but some self-imposed tether had snapped inside Jaune, and now nothing could staunch the flood of disdain. "You told Ozpin I faked my transcripts. You ruined my dream. You made me hurt my friends. And now you're here again to ruin everything I have. Will it ever be enough for you? Will you ever leave me alone?"

"I'm sorry for what I made you do to Nikos," Cardin ground out. "I never thought it would cause you to lose your friendship. I wasn't thinking."

"Oh, you weren't thinking?" scorned Jaune. "Well doesn't that make it all better."

"But I'm not sorry for getting you kicked out of Beacon," Cardin continued, choosing to not reply to Jaune's sacrcasm. Jaune growled, but Cardin ploughed on. "We were at a school for warriors. We were fighting monsters. Just one mistake would have gotten you killed in our world, and you weren't ready for that. All you were doing was putting yourself and those around you at risk."

"So my wellbeing was at the front of your mind when you ratted on me to Ozpin?" Jaune sneered. Cardin said nothing. "Get out of my way, Cardin," Jaune ordered. "I'm going to end this war. And you can't stop me."

"Don't walk away from this Jaune," warned Finn. "You'll regret it."

"Watch me," retorted Jaune, some of his anger for Cardin bleeding over to Finn.

Jaune spun around and marched back to his ship, fully prepared to leave Cardin standing in the dust all on his own. But Cardin called, "That's Jauney boy alright. Always trying to be the hero."

"Someone has to," replied Jaune. "And it looks like it won't be you."

Cardin growled at that but didn't reply. Jaune continued walking and was almost back to his ship when Cardin said in a quiet voice, "I've been ordered to bring you all back to base. Alive _or_ dead."

Jaune went very still. He turned back to Cardin slowly. "Would you do that? Would you really kill me, Cardin?"

Cardin's silence was telling. "I have to bring you back, Arc," Cardin growled. "Don't you see that? I have nothing else other than the military. If I come back empty-handed, I'll be demoted for sure."

"I always knew you were selfish, Cardin, but I never knew it was this extreme."

Cardin snarled. "Shut up. What makes you think you're so perfect yourself? What makes you such a saint?"

"I'm not," answered Jaune. "But at least I'm willing to do what's right."

"Well what do you want me to do?" demanded Cardin.

Jaune's mind was too spent for this. He didn't have the energy to argue anymore. Maybe that was why he said, "Come with us. Help us do something right. And once we kill Salem, we'll happily return to Vale with you."

The offer seemed to throw Cardin, who stood there silently for a second. "You mean it? You'll come back without a fight once you do whatever you need to do?"

"I promise it on my honour as a soldier."

"Honour, huh?" scoffed Cardin, but he pondered the preposition nonetheless. Finally, he said, "Fine then. I've still got time to bring you all back. And just to be clear, I'm only coming along to make sure you don't run away. When you realise you've been on a wild goose chase, you're all coming with me."

Jaune sighed as Cardin turned and marched back to his ship. Great, now on top of everything else he had Cardin to deal with as well.

"You forgot rule number one," chided Phil. Jaune turned around to see the dark-haired man approaching him worriedly. Clearly, he hadn't bothered following Jaune's orders to stay on the ship, but then again, neither had anyone else apparently. Jaune watched as Beta section spilled out onto the uneven terrain and beheld the alien territory for themselves.

"At least I remembered rule number three," Jaune pointed out.

"So you did. The dust was a nice touch." Phil checked Jaune once over for any injuries until he was satisfied that Jaune was still fighting-fit. Then he looked up. "Oh, uh, hey Finn…"

Jaune's attention finally fell onto Finn, still standing there in front of him. "Finn, what are you doing he—?"

" _Shut up_ ," growled Finn. Jaune blinked.

"Fin—"

" _Shut. Up._ " Finn's eyes had darkened dangerously. Waves of loathing seemed to radiate off him, all of it directed at Jaune. "Don't talk to me like that. Don't try to pretend we're still friends. You left me behind!"

"Finn, I—"

"Oi!" yelled Bounty, stomping forward to stand opposite Finn. " _I_ left you behind. You hear me? They had nothing to do with it."

Finn's baleful glare swivelled to lock onto Bounty, who stood there defiantly. "You bastard," hissed Finn. "After everything we did together, you ditched me the first chance you had. I thought I could trust you!"

"Ditched you?" spluttered Bounty. "I left you behind so you wouldn't die out here with the rest of us!"

"Liar!"

"I heard you calling your wife," revealed Bounty. Finn's eyes widened. "I heard what Jasmine said to you. Eight months pregnant with a boy. I left you behind so you could actually be there for your son."

"That should have been my choice," Finn spat.

"If I'd asked you to come, you couldn't have said no without feeling like a coward. I took that choice away from you so you wouldn't have to choose between your friends and your family."

"You had no right!" shouted Finn. "You went behind my back. You should have trusted me to make my own decision."

"I did what I did to make sure your son grew up knowing his own father. To make sure you were able to meet him. I won't apologise for that."

Finn opened his mouth to shout some more, but no retort came out. Instead he closed his mouth, then muttered darkly, "Well I'm here now. I guess I'm stuck."

"Then why did you come?"

"I came to try to save you," admitted Finn bitterly. "When I thought Winchester was going to kill you, I needed to follow him to make sure he didn't. Even when I thought you hated me, I didn't want you to die. Still don't. So I guess if you're going to fight Salem, I guess I'm coming with you too."

"What about—" began Bounty.

"This is my decision," snapped Finn, eying Bounty. "Are you going to try to take this away from me too?"

Bounty pursed his lips but said nothing. Jaune looked from Finn to Bounty and back again. "Is there going to be a problem between you two?" he asked.

"None," answered Finn, still not breaking eye-contact with Bounty. Bounty grunted in reply.

"Alright then, welcome aboard," Jaune said. This was going to be awkward as heck, but even one more soldier might make the difference against Salem. Besides, Jaune couldn't exactly leave Finn here, or send him back to Vale.

"Hey, uh, Jaune," said Phil. "If we're gonna be taking both airships, we should probably split up the crew. Not put all our eggs in the same basket, y'know."

"Sure," agreed Jaune. He faced his now complete section. "Alright guys, we need half of us to fly in Cardin's ship. Cat, Aiden and Terry, you go with Car—Terry? What's wrong?"

Terry stared at Jaune wide eyed, heaving in massive gulps of air. His pale complexion beneath his blond curtains was white as bone, and his teeth were chattering so bad he could barely speak. "J-Jaune… I… I can't… I can't do this."

Jaune leapt for Terry just as the lanky man's legs gave out. Jaune just about caught him, then lowered him to the ground, where he crouched shaking. Jaune looked into his eyes and saw terror. True, undiluted horror. Something had shaken Terry to the very pit of his soul, and looking around, it wasn't hard to figure out what. It was this place. This nightmare. Not just seeing it, but actually feeling it, being a part of it. Suddenly, not only was it real, but it was personal. Whilst Jaune had been preoccupied with Bounty and Finn, the reality of what they were actually attempting to do had smashed into Terry with the force of a bullet and had shattered his fragile confidence.

And looking around, it was cracking everyone else's too. Even Aiden, the unshakable rock of their section, looked queasy as he beheld this poisoned land.

Jaune knew he had to do something. A little bit of fear was healthy, but too much would paralyze anyone. Too much would get you killed. And right now, his team was overflowing with it. He needed to give them something to combat that fear. He needed to give them hope.

"Guys, I know this looks bad. It is. And I know you're probably all scared. You should be. This is like nothing we've ever done before. No matter what way I look at this, our odds don't look good." Jaune took a long moment to make eye contact with each of the shaken faces in front of him. "But we've beaten the odds before. We've done it multiple times. And we didn't do it alone. We did it together. As a team. And I know that no matter how bad our chances of survival may be, they're infinitely better when we're together.

"I can't make any of you get back onto these ships to go deeper into this place. I can only ask you this one question." Jaune took a deep breath. "Why are you here? Why did you risk your lives to come here with me? Maybe it was to save the day. Maybe it was to protect the people of Vale. Maybe it was because this section is the only place you've ever fitted in. It doesn't matter. Just remember why you came here, and what you're fighting for. Hold onto it. Let it give you strength. And more than that, remember you're not alone. We're in this together. As a team."

Jaune looked around, realising he was out of words. He waited for someone to call out how ridiculous his words were, or how stupid his speech was. But surprisingly, it wasn't laughs that met his gaze, but nods. It seemed that all they'd needed in the end was a little bit of encouragement.

Jaune looked down at Terry, noticing that his shaking had subsided. Terry took a deep breath, then rose unsteadily to his feet. Even though Jaune still saw fear in his eyes, it was mingled with something else. Determination.

"God, I love this sappy shit." Cat huffed a laugh.

Jaune smiled. "Let's go then." The team dispersed, moving to their assigned ships; one group rushing to Cardin's airship and the other piling onto Jaune's. It was time to get Salem.

It was time to save the world.

* * *

 **Ehhhhh... really not sure about this one. I can't help but feel like this isn't my best work to date. Don't get me wrong, I loved parts of this chapter, like Cat and Naomi's talk and the arrival into the Grimmlands, but I honestly didn't like writing this overall. It felt like a real drag to wrench it from my brain and slap it down onto a page. Sorry about that.**

 **Oh yeah, and I've gone and told you guys where I think Salem is hiding. I will be very surprised if she isn't somewhere on that dragon-looking continent to the North of Vacuo in the actual show. It just makes so much sense, from why no settlement has lasted long there to why no one has been able to find her yet.**

 **Anyway, as I'm sure you guys have noticed, I've taken a pause from the action recently to begin setting up the finale. I had really hoped I'd be able to have some action for you guys by the end of the chapter, but nope, just more set up. I'm sorry if this is frustrating for you guys; it sure as hell is for me. I'm just too slow a writer to bring you these chapters any sooner.**


	24. Chapter 24 - Moves and Countermoves

**FINALLY! The finale is here! I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

 **Also quick disclaimer here, I use the term 'man' quite a lot to refer to humankind, simply because it's easier and the show also refers to humans as 'man'. Just felt I needed to clarify myself there. Please don't let the femi-nazis lynch me.**

* * *

" _In war there is no prize for runner up"_

 _Omar Bradley_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Four—Moves and Countermoves**

 _Coward. Weakling. Murderer._

And now _traitor_ too.

Beatrice stared at her reflection in her bathroom for a long moment. She was all those things. She wasn't naïve enough to think otherwise. Watts might have played with her mind, but she'd still done everything he'd told her to. She'd still let all the evil happen. Deep down, she knew that if she'd really wanted to, she could have fought against Watts' control on her. She could have won.

But she hadn't. And now she could hide from the truth no longer. Beatrice stared at her reflection and saw herself for that she really was. All her flaws, all her failings, Beatrice stared long and hard at each and every inch of her soul.

And for the first time in a long, long while, she wasn't repulsed by it.

Beatrice unscrewed a bottle of dye-remover and lowered her head into the sink. She turned on the tap and squirted a large dose of the product onto her hair. Then she began to rub it in.

Beatrice _was_ flawed. She had done wrong. But she was so much more than her mistakes. She was brave. She was strong. She was willing to make up for her errors, to do what was right. She was loved by her brother; that meant something. And she wasn't going to sit by and let Vale be destroyed by a madman. She was going to act.

Beatrice's fingers glided through her silken hair, allowing the solvent to dissolve the microscopic dust crystals that dyed her hair a regulatory mud-brown colour. She'd never liked it. It had burned with conformity. Labelled her as just another mindless soldier in the ranks of the Atlesian army. The day she'd dyed her hair had been the day she'd given up her individuality for the good of Atlas.

And today was the day she took it back.

Commander Beatrice Blitz of the Atlesian army had ducked her head into the sink.

But it was Bea the Huntress who lifted it back up.

She turned away from the bathroom and strode to her wardrobe, pulling out a set of clothing she hadn't worn for almost two years. It was her Huntress attire. After she'd put it on, she stood before her reflection once more and smiled. It had been too long since she'd recognised the person smiling back.

Tall, with intelligent eyes and an electric-blue bob of hair. She wore simple, tight, black trousers and a white top, and over that she donned the true defining attribute of Bea the Huntress. It was a long, flowing, hooded robe, the base colour blue like her hair, but with gray swirls traversing the fabric. Like a stormy sky.

It was perfect.

Now it was time to go stop Watts.

Bea hurried to the rear of the Dreadnought she was in. It had taken some time to find out where the General was located: on another Dreadnought towards the head of the pack, and now Bea needed to get over there. The stern of each of the larger ships had a docking area to allow smaller ships to carry passengers and crew between them. It was one of these ships which Bea now hurried towards. She was running against the clock now. Vale was only a few hours away, and if she didn't stop Watts before then, innocents would die. Thousands of them.

She took a passenger ship to the front of the fleet, disembarking on Watts' ship. The crew were busy rushing back and forth to get everything ready for the attack, leaving very few to bother worrying about one extra passenger onboard. Nonetheless, as Bea stalked briskly through the hallways, she picked up enough odd stares to make her wish she'd stuck with her military uniform, or at least left her hair dyed. At least then she wouldn't have been a walking blue lens flare.

Bea hurried deeper into the ship, heading towards the bridge at the front. She made it a full half way towards the bow of the ship when someone finally confronted her. "Oh my, what wonderful hair you have," said a voice.

Bea came to a halt and rotated to face her challenger. She expected to see someone in military uniform, or perhaps an engineer. What Bea hadn't expected to behold was a freckled girl with ginger hair adorned with a pink bow, wearing a white blouse, grey feminine overalls, a black and green collar and matching stockings. The unexpected appearance, mixed with the fact that she was a child, threw Bea for a moment. "Um… pardon?"

"I was complimenting your hair," answered the girl. "It is a most extraordinary colour."

"Um… thanks."

"You are most welcome."

Bea stared at the girl. The girl stared back unblinkingly. The silence stretched on. "Right, um, who are you exactly?" asked Bea, rather tactlessly.

"My name is Penny Polendina," she answered. "And you are?"

"Bea."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Bea. This sure is some fine weather we're having, is it not?"

Bea wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. "Um, sure. I guess. Hey, uh, don't take offense to this, but what exactly are you doing here, Penny?"

"None taken. I am here with my father. He was asked by the general to accompany him on this excursion to Vale. He wanted to leave me behind but had no one to look after me, so in the end it was decided that I would accompany my father in order to experience more of the outside world."

"Wait, Watts wants your father?" asked Bea. "Why?"

"I… I am afraid I cannot answer," replied Penny, brow furrowed. "You see, my father is a great scientist, as is the general in fact, and he told me I wasn't to tell anyone about the secret weapon designs he was working on—Oh dear. I fear I've said too much already."

"Weapon designs? What weapon designs?" demanded Bea.

"What? Uh, nothing. There are no weapon designs." Penny hiccupped. "My father's not working on anything at the moment." Another hiccup.

"Penny, please," begged Bea, "I need to know. If your father created a new weapon for Watts, then people might be in danger. Real life people could be hurt by your father."

Penny looked at the ground, then began fiddling with her fingers. "My… my father would never hurt anyone. He did not even want to design them. When General Ironwood came to him to ask about developing weapons, he refused. But then General Watts came, and someone he convinced my father to work on them for him."

"Penny, listen to me," ordered Bea, taking Penny's fidgeting hands in her own and forcing the girl to look up at her. "Watts is controlling your father. It's his semblance. He's making him work on the weapons, and Watts is going to use them to destroy Vale. I need you to tell me everything you know about them if I am to stop that from happening and save your father from Watts."

Penny looked up at Bea, wide-eyed. "I do not detect a lie coming from you, but if what you say is true…" Penny bit her lip. "Very well then. I shall help you however I can."

"Tell me about the new weapon your father was working on."

"Well, it is not quite a new weapon per say, but rather an upgraded form of the Dreadnought class ship's armaments. It will increase the cannons' effective range by a sizable amount, allowing them to outrange most other weapons."

"Including anti-air guns?" asked Bea. Penny considered it, then nodded. "And how destructive will these upgraded weapons be?"

"I am unsure of that," admitted Penny. "Fairly destructive, I would assume."

Bea cursed colourfully, turning Penny's cheeks a similar shade to her hair. If Watts unleashed his upgraded weapons on Vale, the city wouldn't stand a chance. They'd be annihilated before they could even make a return shot. She couldn't let that happen. No matter what.

"Thank you for your help, Penny. I must go now. Find your father and get yourselves off this ship," Bea advised. She knew how bombing campaigns worked: the lead ship would fire an initial salvo once they were in position, giving the signal for the other ships to follow suit. Bea had to stop this ship from firing that first shot. "I can't let this ship reach Vale. If it gets too close, or I can't stop Watts, I'll have to bring it down. You don't want to be here when that happens."

"What about the other crew of this ship?" Penny inquired.

Bea paused. Penny was right. Most of the people onboard the Dreadnought were just following orders to man the ship. They didn't deserve to suffer for what Watts had done. But she couldn't waste her time evacuating people. She needed to stop Watts. "Penny, I need to ask you a big favour. Can you try to get as many people off this ship as possible?"

"Absolutely," nodded Penny. "It would be my honour to help save lives."

"Thank you. It doesn't matter how you do it; pretend you've got orders from the general if you have to. Just get off this ship. Now I really need to go." Bea turned and hurried away from Penny. She had no more time to waste. Vale wouldn't be far off now. Watts still needed to be brought to justice.

Bea glanced back over her shoulder one last time to see Penny hurrying off, a troubled look on her face. In hindsight, it probably hadn't been a very good idea to look backwards whilst she rushed down a narrow corridor. Maybe if she had been looking where she was going, she wouldn't have collided head first into another person.

"Ooof!" Bea bounced back and landed hard on her arse.

"Watch where you're going, you imbecile," snapped the woman Bea had run into. Bea's eyes widened as they beheld who it was. So too did the woman's. "Commander Blitz?"

"Special operative Schnee." Bea winced. This just got a whole lot more complicated.

/-/

Nora and Ren were already waiting for her by the time Pyrrha arrived. She hopped onto the raised platform in the middle of the square with her teammates, her eyes soaking in the details of their terrain, praying for anything that would give them an advantage. There was nothing. Just a simple square boxed in by blocks of flats and intersected by streets. The height of the stage they were on at least offered them some vestige of defence, but Pyrrha knew it wouldn't be enough. They'd be fighting a losing battle the second the blocked subway entrance was breached. Already exhausted from a long night of evacuating civilians, their band of Huntsmen wouldn't last long.

Team RWBY joined them within minutes of her arrival, and each member of the two teams turned to face the soon-to-be open tunnel system. Pyrrha glanced at her scroll: six o'clock in the morning. Rush hour would be beginning in mere moments. Already, lone commuters were hurrying out of homes and walking swiftly down the surrounding streets. Pyrrha's stomach knotted at the sight. These were the people they'd failed to get out in time. And if they couldn't stop the Breach, these would be the first people to die.

They wouldn't be the last.

Pyrrha stared at the place where the fall of Vale would begin. It looked so inconspicuous, so innocent. Just a sheet of reinforced metal slanted upwards slightly set into the foot of a disused building. It was a feeble apparition of the hell that waited behind it.

Pyrrha and the others waited. Then they waited some more. Ten minutes. Twenty. In a hopeful voice Ruby suggested, "Perhaps it won't happ—"

"It'll happen," stated Pyrrha.

Thirty minutes went by. Then another fifteen. By now the streets had become a bustle of civilians rushing to their jobs; not quite as full as on a normal day, but still full enough for a tragedy to unfold. And still Pyrrha waited. It would come, she told herself. It would happen.

Then, from seemingly deep below the ground, Pyrrha felt a rumble. At first it was so small she almost missed it. Almost. It started as a faint vibration in her foot. Then it rose to her ankle. Then kept rising. Pyrrha knelt and put her ear to the ground, trying to make out the sound better.

There. She felt it resonating through the earth, a deep thumping that slithered into her ear and made her heart stop. She lifted her head from the floor and looked with horror at her companions. "It's started," she breathed.

Pyrrha leapt to her feet and snatched up her weapons again. By now the noise had risen enough to be audible in the square. Passersby stopped and stared, turning to their companions to ask what was happening. Pyrrha couldn't take it anymore. "Get out of here!" she screamed, heedless of the panic she might begin. "Run! Go!"

Pedestrians stared at her as if she were crazy, but none of them obeyed. Pyrrha wanted to cry right then and there. They weren't running. They were going to die.

The noise rose and rose, growing louder and louder, stronger and stronger. Pyrrha took a step back, mesmerised by the growing sound of disaster approaching. The civilians around the square finally became uneasy, some sixth sense of theirs detecting that something wasn't right. Pyrrha screamed at them again, and now some of them did finally turn and hurry away in the opposite direction. But not everyone. Some simply stood and gawked, spectators to their own funerals. Pyrrha couldn't bare to watch them anymore.

A metallic screeching rose to accompany the rumbling, rising to an ear-deafening pitch. Pyrrha's eyes went wide. She realised in a split-second that whatever was on the other side of those metal barricades was about to hit.

Someone screamed, and now people finally turned tail and fled, but it was too late.

"Get down!" Pyrrha shrieked, hitting the deck. The volume rose to a fever pitch.

Then the world exploded.

/-/

Special operative Winter Schnee stood and stared at Bea. Bea stared back. Her and Winter had never been friendly; utterly the opposite in fact. Bea thought Winter was stuck-up and cold, completely dismissive of anyone but herself; when it came to Winter, it was her way or the metaphorical highway. In return, Winter saw Bea as an up-jumped know-it-all, unprofessional to the highest degree and a blotch on the Atlesian military's sparkling record. The two women couldn't stand each other. But despite all that, Bea would be lying if she didn't admit to feeling some grudging respect for Winter's fighting ability. If this went south…

The shock of Bea's sudden appearance quickly wore off, and Winter's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What are you doing here? As I recall you were assigned to another ship."

Bea pushed herself back to her feet, giving herself a couple of extra seconds to think. "I was ordered here by the general. I'm here to speak with him."

"Why would he not simply send a message?" Winter questioned.

"I do not know. Perhaps he is cautious of spies intercepting his commands. It doesn't concern you. Now if you'll excuse me." Bea made to move past Winter, but the Schnee blocked her path, still scrutinising her. Bea raised an eyebrow. "Stand aside, Winter."

Winter finally met her gaze. "Where is your uniform, Beatrice?"

Bea's mind went blank.

"I think you're lying," declared Winter. She took a step closer. Bea took a step back. "What are you really doing here?"

"That is none of your concern."

"I think it is," stated Winter. "If you won't tell me, then I shall have to arrest you."

Damnit. This wasn't going well. Bea assessed the situation in a flash. Lying wasn't working. Winter was too perceptive, too shrewd. That meant she had two options. Tell the truth or fight.

Bea didn't know how good her chances would be in a one-on-one with Winter Schnee, so she made a snap decision to tell Winter the truth. Just in case though, she slipped her hand casually to her side, mere inches away from where she knew her weapon was. It wouldn't hurt to be prepared.

"You're right," she said. "I'm not here on orders of the general. I'm here to stop Watts."

"Stop General Watts?" demanded Winter. "You realise you've just admitted to treason?"

"This is bigger than Atlas, Winter," argued Bea. "This is about the fate of Vale. Watts is going to destroy it completely. You must realise that. He's going to murder thousands of innocents if this invasion fleet makes it to Vale. Don't you care about that?"

Winter hesitated, clearly troubled. But nonetheless she said, "The general would never do such a thing."

"Open your eyes, Winter. What do you think this fleet is for? To wave hello to them? Watts is going to level Vale, and you know it."

"No," denied Winter, shaking her head. "You're trying to distract me from you. Commander Beatrice Blitz, you are under arrest for treason against the Atlesian military. I'm taking you to the general."

Bea shook her head. It was no good. Watts had gotten Winter with his semblance too, convincing her that he was in the right. She could spend hours arguing with Winter and still get nowhere. And that was time she didn't have.

It was time for plan B.

Subtly, Bea rotated her body ever so slightly to hide her right hand from view. Carefully, she inched behind her back and gripped a cylindrical shape resting on the small of her back. Her weapon. Currently, it was in sheath mode, leaving it as little more than a maroon cylinder about the length of two fists. But when she extended it, she'd have either a whip or a foil-like sword, depending on which side she picked, each charged with enough electricity to taser a Beowolf. Hopefully enough to take down a Schnee.

Bea had always wondered who would win in a fair fight. She had no intention of finding that out today.

She waited until Winter took a step towards her so that her balance would be shifting, making it harder to react. Then Bea snapped her weapon out in front of her and lunged for Winter.

She flew across the gap between them. Her weapon extended out in front of her, her sword crackling with arcs of electricity. It was a beautiful move, designed to take Winter out of the fight before it'd even begun. Or at least, it would have been, had Winter not twisted at the last second to avoid the foil tip, then backflip away to make room.

Bea cursed, going for Winter in a second strike, still hoping to land the knockout blow. Winter's sabre leapt up to meet Bea's, halting its progression towards her chest.

Frozen-cold eyes regarded Bea icily. "You shouldn't have done that," Winter said evenly.

Crap.

/-/

Something about the cloud was wrong. Jaune could feel it in his every bone as they approached the dark smudge in front of them. Or rather, it approached them. It was a sort of darkish haze in the distance, not quite opaque, not quite transparent. It reminded Jaune of an angry swarm of bees.

"The hell is that?" demanded Finn. Jaune glanced around at the crew sat within the airship's cockpit: Finn, Bounty, Naomi and Phil. No one had an answer for him.

"Get Cardin on the radio," Jaune commanded. The larger boy would be following them in his own ship with the other half of Beta section. "Ask him if he sees this too."

Phil, sitting at the controls at the front of the cockpit, obliged him, and soon Cardin's voice crackled out the radio in reply. _"Awww, is Jauney-boy scared of a bit of weather?"_ mocked Cardin.

"Just stay away from it," Jaune sighed. Cardin scoffed, but didn't contradict him.

Their ship rose higher into the sky, aiming to glide over the black cloud, but it seemed to track them, rising as well, until it hovered parallel with them again. Phil turned the ship again, aiming to pass to its right, but once more the cloud blocked their path. The distance between them closed rapidly, swallowing up the sky between them.

"Jaune…" warned Naomi.

Jaune's grip tightened on his captain's chair as the black cloud loomed ever closer. It looked like it was churning, shaping and morphing itself into whatever form it desired. In fact, now that they were closer, it didn't look like a solid object at all. It looked like it was made out of hundreds of dark shapes hovering in the air together.

The dark shapes approached, and Jaune made them out even further. He saw wings. And legs. And black bodies. But that wasn't what tipped him off. No, what finally caused the penny to drop for Jaune were the dozens of burning red eyes regarding them balefully. The eyes of the ultimate predator. That wasn't a cloud.

It was a flock of Griffons.

"Crap!" yelled Phil, throwing the ship into a gut-wrenching nose dive just as the swarm hit. The last second drop saved their ship from slamming into the flying Grimm, but it wasn't enough to stop the talons of one from scraping down the windscreen in an ear-splitting _shrink_. The pack shrieked at having their prey snatched away from them and dove after them. The chase had begun.

Jaune and the others latched onto whatever surface they could find in a vain effort to keep their footing. Sweat poured down Phil's face as he mentally wrested with the controls, using his semblance to do his best to control their dive.

"Cardin!" screamed Jaune into the mic.

" _Damnit I see it! They're following us too!"_

"Get out of here!" shrieked Jaune. "Get to the coordinates. We'll meet you there." Radio static was Jaune's only reply. Either Cardin hadn't bothered to reply, had flown out of range, or had crashed, killing everyone on board his ship. Jaune shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind. They wouldn't help him now.

Phil finally hurled their ship out of their dive, and Jaune was forced down into his seat as his vision began to blacken. Just as he was sure he was going to pass out, their ship levelled, now rocketing across the terrain, mere meters away from smashing into the unforgiving ground. Rock lances and dust spikes speared for their ship, before lurching out of view as Phil swerved around the deadly obstacle-course.

The Griffons seemed to have no problem keeping up, their smaller and lighter bodies allowing them to race after the lumbering airship. Jaune leapt into the air as a Griffon slammed into the body of the ship, shaking the entire fuselage.

"Can't this thing go any faster?!" Bounty shouted.

"I'm working on it!" Phil panted.

"What armaments are on this ship?" Naomi demanded.

Phil's eyes glazed over as he mentally searched through the ship's wiring for weapons, then snapped back to the present as another Griffon dragged its claws down the ship's hull.

"Rotatable turrets on the wings and a machine gun on the underside!"

"Then shoot these sons-of-bitches down!" Finn ordered.

"I can't control everything!" Phil shrieked, yanking the ship out of the way as a Griffon somehow flanked the ship and dove for the cockpit window.

"How can we help?" Jaune asked.

Phil wasted no time pointing to the weapon stations on either side of the cockpit, each one designed to control the turrets. But Phil warned them that the machine gun was manually operated.

"I'll do it," Bounty volunteered, rushing off to the machine gun nest whilst Naomi and Finn strapped themselves into the weapons stations on either side of Jaune's seat.

Before long, the shrill shrieks of the Grimm were accompanied by manic cannon fire as the humans fought back. Flashes of light from either side illuminated the cockpit, and Bounty's manic laughter soon rang out as the battle cry of human defiance.

"Come at me you bastards!" he bellowed, blasting away into the swarm behind him.

Jaune's stomach flipped and roiled as Phil continued to take evasive manoeuvres, brushing past death a dozen times by a mere hair's width. Jaune just about managed to force his vomit back into his stomach, but only by closing his eyes to the horrifying view in front.

Jaune kept his eyes clenched shut until the guns finally began to patter out, and Bounty whooped in celebration. "Take that you sons-of-bitches!" his voice floated up to the cockpit. "Never mess with the Bounty!"

Phil glanced back at Jaune, his eyes wide with elation. He opened his mouth to say something, and that was when it happened.

Jaune never did find out how a Griffon had managed to sneak past the ship and fly at them head on. Whether it had been part of the original pack, or whether it had been sheer bad luck that had fated Jaune's ship to run across this Grimm, he'd never know.

All he knew as the Griffon slammed into the cockpit window was a scream from Naomi and a maelstrom of broken glass.

/-/

When Pyrrha opened her eyes again, the world was white.

No, wait, not the world. Just the ice covering her. Pyrrha watched her breath fog in front of her as she looked up to find herself and the others enclosed within a cocoon of ice. That was Weiss' doing, no doubt. Ren appeared by her side, shaking her shoulders gently. He opened his mouth and began shaping words, but no sound escaped his lips. No, Pyrrha realised, that wasn't true. He was making sounds; she just couldn't hear them over the ringing in her ears. She shook her head and pointed at her ears, indicating that she couldn't hear Ren. He nodded his understanding.

Suddenly, the ice around her cracked, then fell away, revealing the outside world. Pyrrha choked silently on the dust hovering in the air. She looked towards the streets to find them littered with people, some running, some staring, some not doing anything at all as they lay motionless on the ground. The first sound to reach her as the ringing finally began to dissipate was the screaming. It was made up of a multitude of different voices, rising together into one horrendous cry, but it sounded so distant, so disconnected from Pyrrha. As if they were coming from another room, another world.

Then she turned to the sealed subway entrance, only to find it was sealed no more.

And the terror became real.

The black head of a King Taijitu erupted from the rubble, baring its fangs at the humans around it. Those that hadn't left yet and were still able to run finally fled. The enormous snake fixed Pyrrha with eyes that promised blood, then it reared back its head. Pyrrha clutched her weapons, ready for the snake to strike. A black bird flew past her peripheral vision. The serpent reached the apex of its rise, about to bring its fangs down in an unstoppable strike.

When suddenly it paused, its eyes going wide, as if in shock. Then its entire body collapsed onto the ground, sending a plume of dust rocketing into the sky. When it finally cleared, Pyrrha saw the head again, now decidedly separate from its body.

The King Taijitu had been beheaded.

"Uncle Qrow?" gasped Ruby. Pyrrha whirled around, coming face to face with a greying man staggering out of the dust created by the fallen Grimm. "Uncle Qrow!" cried Ruby again once she'd confirmed it was him. In a burst of rose petals, she had latched herself onto the stranger's torso, squeezing his chest in a rib-crushing hug.

"Heya kiddo," greeted the man, rubbing her hair affectionately. He nodded to Yang. "Heya firecracker."

"Uncle Qrow…" gaped Yang. "What are you doing here?"

"Oz called me. Mentioned you and your mates were going to do something stupid and impossible."

"People are in danger," declared Ruby. "We won't stop until they're safe."

"I know kiddo," Qrow replied. "I wouldn't ask you to. I'm here to help."

"I thought Professor Ozpin said all the available Huntsmen were too far away to make it back in time," said Ren.

"Hey, what can I say? I move fast."

As much as it warmed Pyrrha's heart to see Ruby and Yang look so happy, they couldn't afford to be distracted from their enemy. "Um, Mr Qrow—"

"Don't call me Mister," corrected the older man. "Just Qrow is fine."

"Qrow then, can you fight?"

"Psst, can I?" dismissed Qrow, hefting his weapon on his shoulder, a scythe not dissimilar to Ruby's own. But Pyrrha didn't miss the haggard look in his eye, though he tried to hide it. This man must have travelled very far, very fast to get here in time. He was exhausted. But at this stage, even a tired fighter was better than nothing.

The pile of rubble shifted. The group spun around, weapons raised. "Contain the Grimm," ordered Pyrrha. "We can't let them get out of this square. Either take them out or draw them towards you." The others nodded.

"It's time to break some bones," snarled Nora as the Grimm finally burst out into the open.

Everyone immediately opened fire with their ranged weapons on the wave emerging from the depths of the subway. The Grimm did what the Grimm did best: they attacked. Dozens fell before they'd even made it five feet, but dozens more replaced them immediately, yapping, barking and baying for blood. The Grimm pushed closer, heedless to the numbers falling under the onslaught of the humans' weaponry. Twenty feet between them became fifteen. Then ten. Then five.

Pyrrha brought down a final Grimm with her rifle, then flicked it into spear mode and attacked, meeting the wave of Grimm with the cold metal of Miló. Three slashes had three Beowolves falling back headless, only for three more to take their place. Pyrrha leapt over one into the fray and swung her weapon through 360 degrees, forcing the hoard back. She speared one through the mouth, then reversed her motion and pierced another through the eye with the hilt.

A Creep went for Pyrrha's back, hissing and spitting. Pyrrha leapt backwards into the attack, allowing the Grimm to slam headfirst against the shield on her back, knocking it into oblivion.

She was moving again even before that one had dropped, slicing through more Grimm before backing up to assess the fight. Qrow and Ruby were slashing through rows of Grimm with wide, punishing sweeps of their scythes. Yang was charging into the fray, blasting Grimm with her gauntlets from close range whilst Weiss and Blake backed her up. Nora and Ren were fighting together, moving instinctively to cover each other's backs as their dodged into and out of attacks.

Pyrrha's tactical analysis was cut short as an Ursa approached, towering above her on its hindlegs. Pyrrha dropped her shield to the floor and ran at the Ursa. The bear swiped at her head, but Pyrrha slid underneath its paw and between its legs. The moment Pyrrha cleared the underside of the Ursa, she spun and struck, cutting the beast's ankle tendons. It roared in agony, toppling forward to collapse onto its stomach with an almighty crash!

Pyrrha didn't hesitate. She reached out with her polarity and _pulled_ her dropped shield towards her.

Through the Ursa.

The bear just about had enough time to look up before death stole its sight. The last thing it saw was a blur of bronze before the shield lodged itself in its throat.

Pyrrha leapt over the Ursa and yanked her shield out of its neck, using the decaying giant as a wall to buy her some time to snatch a breather. Huntsmen were trained to build up their stamina, but not even they could keep fighting forever. They'd managed to hold back the hoard well enough so far, but just how much longer could they last?

Pyrrha was about to dive back into the fight, when something snagged her eye. She turned to look to the top of one of the buildings overlooking the square. She shielded her eyes against the rising sun to see three distinct figures watching them. One had silver hair, one green, and the final one had flowing, raven hair. They didn't run. They didn't join the fight. They simply watched. Pyrrha wasn't sure why, but that disturbed her.

Then a Boarbatusk squealed and attacked, forcing Pyrrha to put the strangers out of her mind.

/-/

"Well this is unexpected," purred Cinder, regarding the ongoing conflict down below.

"I don't believe it. Those kids are actually holding back the Grimm," Mercury awed.

"What do we do, Cinder?" Emerald asked. "If they stop the Breach, Vale won't fall."

"Vale will fall," she stated. "That is why we're here: to ensure the Breach succeeds." She continued to watch the lone humans battle against the flood of Grimm. "The Huntsmen are close to cracking. I think it's time we punched a few extra holes in their lines." Cinder smiled wickedly. "Emerald, Mercury, be dears and go kill two of them for me."

Mercury grinned manically. Emerald swallowed, then nodded. "If you wish, Cinder."

Cinder smiled as her students made their way down to street level. Soon this entire wretched city would be in ruins. Man would pay for what they'd done to her. And once they did, she'd pick through the rubble and bodies herself to claim the power she so rightly deserved.

She'd never be powerless again.

But before that, she supposed it would only be right that she lead by example.

Of course she'd heard of the so-called 'invincible girl'. She hailed from Mistral, after all. She'd always wanted to test whether that title was well earnt.

/-/

Yang slammed her fist into yet another Ursa, blowing it backwards. She launched herself after it, hitting it again and launching it into a group of Beowolves. They collapsed like bowling pins. Or at least, those who weren't flattened immediately did.

Yang cocked her wrist gauntlet again, turning to find another opponent. "Who's next!" she roared.

Yang saw Weiss and Blake dispatching their own group of enemies. Behind them were Ren and Nora, an entire ring of decaying corpses around them. And there was Ruby, holding her own against a pack of Beowolves. Yang's chest swelled with pride at the sight of her younger sister fighting like any Huntress. Summer would be proud to see her now.

Ruby swung her scythe again, decapitating a Grimm. She spotted Yang watching her and nodded her acknowledgment in return—

When a chain snagged around her chest and yanked her backwards.

Yang screamed, rushing after where he sister disappeared. One Creep was dumb enough to try to stand in her way. She left it in a smoking heap on the ground behind her and ploughed after her sister.

Just as she broke free of the hoard of Grimm, a silver-haired boy landed in front of her. Yang slid to a stop, staring at the boy in front of her. The boy smirked back. "Hey there, blondie."

Yang stepped to the side. The boy mirrored her. Yang stepped to the other side. Once more the boy blocked her. Yang growled. "Get out of my way."

The boy's grin stretched, wider than a shark's. "Make me."

Angry tears blurred her vision, but Yang wiped them away furiously. This boy was trying to stop her from saving her sister. Big mistake.

"Who the hell are you?"

"The name's Mercury," the boy replied smugly.

"Wrong," Yang roared. "You're dead!"

/-/

Pyrrha saw Yang go charging away from the fight. "Yang!" she cried, but the blond brawler was beyond hearing.

"Ruby!" Qrow yelled, turning to race after his niece.

"Hold the line!" screamed Pyrrha, but Qrow ignored her, dashing towards Ruby and the green-haired girl from the rooftop. But just then a second head of a King Taijitu surfaced, this one white. No doubt the other end to the black one Qrow had killed, at least if its scream of pure loathing was any indication.

Qrow cursed and was forced to dodge backwards as the snake launched itself at him, splintering the ground where it hit. The snake hissed and coiled its enormous body, cutting off Qrow and the others from Ruby and Yang.

Qrow growled in frustration, then launched himself at the snake, forced to confront the beast head on lest it attack him from behind if he went straight for his nieces.

Pyrrha spun back to the Breach, horror clenching her gut. The line was breaking. With Ruby and Yang out of the fight and Qrow tied up with a giant serpent, eight defenders had turned to just five. As if knowing this, the Grimm roared and fell upon them again, stronger than ever.

The lonely humans fought back as best they could, just about managing to seal up the cracks that had been made by the departure of some of their best fighters. Nora went for the biggest Grimm: Ursai and Death Stalkers. Blake and Weiss fought in tandem, picking off Grimm wherever they appeared. Ren worked on the smaller, faster Grimm, slashing shallow cuts into Creeps and Beowolves in just the right places to take them out.

Pyrrha was a whirlwind of steel and discarded corpses. She spun and slashed and jumped and stabbed and dodged and killed, cutting down a swathe of Grimm bodies around her.

Something bright flared in the corner of her eye. She twisted and brought up her shield. A fireball collided with it and ignited, fire licking at her grip on the other side of the metal. Pyrrha looked up to where the fireball had come from and gasped. The woman who had been standing on the roof was now floating down to her on a golden flame. She landed, elegant heels clicking against the concrete ground as she prowled towards her.

Pyrrha fell into a battle stance. It didn't take a genius to figure out who this was.

The woman clicked to a stop a few feet away and regarded her dismissively. "You are being an awful bother today," she chided.

Pyrrha didn't loosen her grip on her weapon for a second. "You're Cinder." It wasn't really a question. "What do you want? Why are you doing this?"

The woman smiled beautifully, like a predator, Pyrrha thought. The woman was stunning, no doubt there, but it was the beauty of a snake. A façade that hid the true monster underneath. "Why am I doing this?" she mimicked. "Well, invincible girl, the answer is very simple; because I want to see man and everything he has built in ruins. Vale is simply the first step in that."

"Why?" Pyrrha demanded.

"Oh I'm so glad you asked, because I wanted to take this time to have a nice long chat with you about my convoluted motives and backstory—"

A jet of fire lanced towards Pyrrha. She dived out the way, but the flames followed her, sweeping across the battlefield and cremating several Grimm behind her. Finally, she dived behind an Ursa, letting the doomed Grimm take the flames for her.

When the fire beam finally ceased, Pyrrha gripped her weapons and readied herself for a fight. Cinder had started all of this. And now Pyrrha was finishing it.

/-/

Wind.

Cold.

Pain.

Jaune dragged him mind back into his own body, squinting at the shattered cockpit around him.

They were still flying.

Or rather, they were falling.

Jaune lurched forward, pulling himself towards the empty space at the front of the ship where glass windows should have been. Wind tore its way into the ship, whipping at Jaune's clothes and hair as he battled to the control panel.

On the floor besides it, lay Phil, unconscious but mercifully still breathing. He'd taken the full force of the Griffon smashing into the cockpit. What had become of Finn and Naomi, Jaune wasn't sure.

Jaune grabbed the joy stick at the base of Phil's chair, glancing out the broken window. The ground loomed before him, an unending graveyard waiting to claim their lives. Jaune gritted his teeth and heaved against the stick, forcefully dragging it backwards.

The ship began to respond, heaving itself upright, but it was sluggish. Something must have broken when the Griffon hit. The ground raced towards him. Jaune pulled even harder.

It wasn't enough.

Jaune could see the airship wouldn't stabilise in time. His eyes searched frantically for someplace flat enough to land the ship and—There! Jaune angled the ship towards what looked to be the only level piece of ground in this entire hellhole. He growled as he wrested with the ship's controls, the flying beast fighting him all the way.

"What the hell's going on?" Jaune heard Bounty's voice demand from further down the ship.

Jaune's eyes widened. Bounty was still in the machine gun nest on the belly of the ship. He was going to take the full force of the landing.

"Bounty get out of ther—!"

CRASH!

Jaune's body slammed against the control panel like a ragdoll. His teeth slammed onto the words he was speaking, cutting them off. He tasted blood. The ship screamed in agony as its belly slid along the rough ground. Jaune saw bits of metal go flying off in his peripherals.

Jaune growled as the ship continued to slide, refusing to stop. He leant back against the joystick with all his weight, his hands clammy, as the ship's momentum carried them towards a looming cliff edge.

Closer and closer the ship came, and harder and harder Jaune pushed against the joystick, so hard that he felt the plastic bend in his grip. Still it wasn't enough to halt the ship as it ploughed on, closer and closer to death.

"Turn off the engines," Phil muttered from the floor.

"What?!"

"Turn, off, engines." Phil raised a limp hand and pulled down on a lever on the control panel. Instantly Jaune heard the hum of the engines fade, and finally the ship ground to a halt, mere meters away from annihilation.

At that moment, there was nothing Jaune wanted to do more than keel over and sleep for a hundred years. But he needed to get his friends out of here. He draped one of Phil's arms over his shoulder and hauled him out the vacant cockpit windows; there was no way the cargo bay and exit ramp had survived the crash. Once he'd made sure Phil was alright, he returned to find Naomi and Finn, both dazed but otherwise alright. It looked like their control panels had protected them from the worst of the glass fragments when the Griffon had collided with them, and they'd fortunately been strapped in to their seats during the crash. Jaune got them all outside and away from the smoking ship. Then he turned and went back in for the final member of his crew.

"Bounty!" he called, clambering through the wreckage of their ship. "Bounty!"

"Jaune," came a weak reply.

Jaune rushed towards the voice, following it to its source. Bounty was lying in the hallway, one leg half way down the hatch that would lead to the machine gun nest and hidden by a metal strut that half buried it. Jaune went to grab him by the arms and pull him away, but Bounty screamed in pain.

"My leg!" he cried. "My leg!"

Jaune heaved against the debris that lay strewn across Bounty's leg, pinning him down at the knee. Jaune finally managed to overturn the rubble, when he stopped. Bounty's leg had at last been revealed.

Mangled, twisted, shattered. These were the only words Jaune could describe it with.

"My leg," cried Bounty. "My leg."

* * *

 **Ooooh, cliff hangers. Sorry not sorry tines three for each story thread I left hanging.**

 **The finale has begun at last! I've wanted to bring this to you guys for so long. And I think I've found my new favourite thing to write: combat. I love not only describing people punching each other into oblivion, but also being smart about the way people fight. Anyone can write 'he punched her in the face. She punched him in the stomach', but a good combat scene is something which makes your jaw drop, not just because of the description of the fight, but because of how awesome the fighting actually is. That's what was so extraordinary about the first few volumes of RWBY (less so in later volumes I fear). And RWBY is in a unique position to do this thanks to the variety of people's weapons and abilities in their universe. I think a good RWBY fanfic author realises this and uses the in-universe rules to create something unique and spectacular. That's what I tried to do with Pyrrha's polarity, and the way she pulls her shield through the Ursa (my favourite part of the whole fight btw). There's more of that to come next chapter, but I hope this has gotten you guys excited for the finale of this fic. I realise the pace has been slowed recently, and I'm sorry if you found that boring, but I needed to take a break from combat for a while so as to not over-saturate you with repetitive fight scenes.**

 **Unfortunately I'm back to school on Monday; year 12's gonna be a pain in the arse, but I'm way too pumped to delay this finale any more - I'm either going to finish this story...**

 **...or this story's going to finish me.**

 **JK I'm gonna be fine, but still follow, favourite and review to keep me going. Your support is my caffeine when it comes to writing.**


	25. Chapter 25 - Engagement

**Is anyone else getting loads of spam reviews from what are clearly bots trying to get people to go to a website and code a trolling bot? It's getting really annoying to delete all those reviews, and also really downhearting that I've had more reviews from bots these last two weeks than from people.**

 **Anyway.** **Boom, you looking for this?**

* * *

" _All men are afraid in battle. The coward is the one who lets his fear overcome his sense of duty"_

 _General George Patton_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Five—Engagement**

"Keep moving!" Jaune puffed, dragging his straining body to its absolute limit. "We're not… far… off."

"Damnit Jaune, you can't save me," Bounty grunted, strung between Jaune and Finn, one leg attempted to hop along whilst the other dangled uselessly below him.

Jaune ignored him, refusing to acknowledge the thought that continued to wheedle its way into his mind. The thought that maybe, just maybe, this was a fight he wasn't going to win.

Jaune had dragged Bounty out of the burning wreck of their crashed ship himself, but upon reuniting with the others, Naomi had informed him, half in tears, that the damage to Bounty's leg was too great; he might never be able to walk on it again. That was the first time Bounty had tried to convince Jaune to leave him behind, but Jaune was having none of it. He and his half of Beta section had taken it in turns to haul Bounty's immobile body towards the coordinates where they prayed Cardin would be. But all of them were at the end of their strength. They could barely keep themselves running, let alone drag Bounty along with them. But still Jaune refused to give up on him.

Overhead, a Nevermore screamed into the biting air harrowing the group. Jaune spun and pulled his rifle upright. Three other rifles mimicked his. The air became full of whizzing shots and flashes of light as the Nevermore dived. A lucky shot glanced against its eye, half blinding it. The enormous bird screeched in pain, then seemed to lose control of its flight. It veered off to the side and slammed into the ground, rattling Jaune's bones all the way up to his teeth. Shakily, Jaune and the others lowered their rifles.

But the damage had been done. The Nevermore had given away their position. Now nothing could help the exposed humans.

First a howl pierced the smog-heavy air. Then another. Then a third. Somewhere off to the side came a chorus of squealing Boarbatusks, and to the other Jaune made out the screeching of Creeps. The blood-red sky was alive with the death chants of the Grimm.

Grimly, Jaune pulled Bounty's arm over his shoulder and motioned for Finn to do the same. "It's no good Jaune," Bounty muttered. "You'll never outrun them with me weighing you down." Jaune ignored him. "Jaune. Jaune! Listen to me, damnit!"

"Phil, take the front. Naomi, the back. Shoot anything that gets in our way," Jaune ordered. The group started to run.

"Damnit Jaune, you're not listening to me," Bounty growled.

"No one is being left behind," Jaune insisted.

"Then you'll die."

"Well we're not dead yet."

So the humans kept running. On and on, Jaune and Finn limped as fast as they could whilst Phil and Naomi covered them. The growls came closer and closer, slowly but surely eating up the distance between them and the humans. When they hit, Jaune knew it would be over. The five of them might be able to hold them off for a little while, but they would be overwhelmed eventually.

Yet still he continued to run, because he knew he had no other option. Because he wouldn't _allow_ himself to consider any other option.

Until finally, the group ran out of places to go. The valley they'd been hurrying down ended suddenly with a near vertical cliff face. The surface was pockmarked enough to offer a relatively easy climb, but with Bounty's shattered leg, there was no way they'd been able to get him over.

They were trapped.

Jaune stumbled to a stop and stared at the sheer wall in front of him, terror grasping for his heart. He glanced around, desperately searching for another way out. There had to be another way. There had to be.

"Jaune…" Bounty mumbled.

"What do we do, Jaune?" Phil voiced the question everyone was thinking.

Jaune looked back the way they'd come. "We'll double back. Find another way around."

"The Grimm'll catch us," Finn warned.

"Jaune," Bounty repeated, stronger this time.

"Then we'll have to try climbing. Maybe we can hoist Bounty up between the four of us—"

"Jaune!" Bounty shouted. He turned as best he could to fully face his leader. Jaune tried to look away, but Bounty's gaze burned into the back of his head until he turned back to him. "Listen to me," growled Bounty. "Every single man, woman, and child is relying on you and this mission. My son, somewhere, is relying on you and this mission, even if he doesn't know it. If you die here, we _all_ die. Everyone. Do you really think one life is worth losing all humanity?" Jaune opened his mouth to argue but Bounty interjected before he could. "And don't give me that heroic bullshit now, Jaune." He turned to Naomi. "Nuke, you're smart. Do the maths. One life versus millions. This is the right choice. You know it." Naomi covered her mouth, her eyes brimming with tears. Bounty took that as a yes, turning back to Jaune. "You're a good man, Jaune. Lightning and Nuke are good people. Hell, even you've got a chance at being a half-decent bloke, Flea," he tried to joke. Nobody smiled, not even Bounty. Naomi was silently crying, unnoticed tears staining her cheeks. Phil looked torn, his face a mix of anguish and worry. Finn just stood and stared, his face betraying none of the emotion he felt underneath. "But me? I'm not a good man. I've lived my life, and all I did was screw it up. If my final act can be for something other than me, then it'll be the best damn thing I've ever done. Let me do this, Jaune. Let me help you save the world in the only way I can."

Jaune stared at Bounty. Stared and stared at his friend, hoping, praying for something to happen, anything to take this impossible decision out of his hands. But Bounty only stared back equally hard, and in his eyes was nothing but resolve.

Gently, almost reverently, Jaune lowered Bounty to the ground and unslung his arm from his shoulder. It took an impossible amount of strength from Jaune, strength that wasn't measured in muscles, but eventually he stood up.

Bounty took off the belt of grenades he'd taken from the stores in Vale and tossed it to Naomi. "You'll need that more than me. Just leave me a rifle. I'll take as many of these fuckers with me as I can."

Jaune obliged, giving Bounty his own rifle and all the ammo he carried. Bounty's had been left on the ship. A howl echoed through the canyon, reminding Jaune and the others of the need for haste. Jaune took one step back. Then another. Then a third. And by the forth he had built up the strength to look away for the last time.

Jaune knew that if he looked back, he might never leave. So he didn't, not even to make sure his section were following him. He simply began scaling the cliff, and once he'd gotten to the top, he pulled himself over the lip and kept going.

Jaune Arc had left a friend, yet again.

* * *

Bounty watched Jaune and the others begin the ascent, one after another. Last to go was Finn. The man Bounty had thought he'd hated. Bounty turned to him. "One day, I hope you can understand why I left you behind." Finn's face was unreadable. "I know I can't ask for forgiveness."

"You're right," Finn said. "You went behind my back and betrayed my trust. I can't forgive that." Bounty hung his head. He'd expected no less. But still some part of him had hoped for more somehow. "But it doesn't matter. You're my friend. That hasn't changed because you did something stupid."

Bounty glanced up. Tear lined his eyes, but he blinked them away. He didn't want to appear weak in his final moments. "A woman forgives, but never forgets," he said tightly.

"A man forgets, but never forgives," Finn finished.

The two men, who had started as enemies, then become allies, then somehow become friends, looked at each other one, final time. Still Finn looked hesitant to leave. Bounty knew he needed to give him one more push. "Go on then, get out of here," he grunted. "Meet your son. You're gonna be a better father than I ever was."

Finnegan gave him one, last, long look, before Finn did what Finn did best.

Finnegan Fletch fled.

Bounty let out the shuddering breath he'd been holding the whole conversation. Now that no one was around, the bravado he'd been faking peeled off his face like wet plaster. His mouth was ash-dry. His tongue a fat wad of sandpaper. His heart thudded against his chest, impossibly fast, as if it wanted to burst out of his torso and flee its predicament. He didn't blame it.

He turned away from the cliff to face the oncoming monsters. Bearing down on him was every single nightmare he'd had as a kid rolled into one. These were the creatures of hell. The definition of evil. Every sane human had an instinctive fear of them. A sixth sense which told them that these things weren't natural, weren't _right_ , and that they should be avoided at all costs. Bounty wasn't insane. He just acted like it sometimes. But the terror he felt at that moment was real, alright. As real and tangible as the pain in his mangled leg.

And now here he was. Sitting on his arse while the monsters of the night bore down on him, waiting for them to tear him apart.

And there wasn't a god damned thing he could do about it.

He gripped his rifle until his knuckles went white and dragged himself onto his one remaining foot, using the butt of the rifle like a crutch. If he was going to die, then he'd die standing, damnit!

"Come on then," he went to say, but it barely came out as a strangled breath. He tried again, licking his lips with a bone-dry tongue. "Come on then," he managed to hoarsely whisper. "Come… come at… come at me you… you… you…"

"You bastards," finished Finnegan Fletch, his hand resting on Bounty's arm.

"What are you doing here?" Bounty whispered, even as his eyes glistened with tears. "You have a family. You're going to be a father. You can't—"

"I'm done running away from friends" Finn stated firmly. "Jasmine will understand. When she hears I died fighting with a friend, she'll understand. And one day, so will my son."

Bounty found his throat too clogged with emotion to reply, so he just nodded. Both men leaned against each other, holding each other up in more than the physical way.

Above them, a Nevermore shrieked. A Beowolf howled. Boarbatusks grunted and Creeps hissed.

"We're not getting out of this, are we Bounty?" asked Finn.

Bounty silently watched the canyon. Then he said quietly, "Magnus."

"What?"

"My first name. It's Magnus."

"Magnus, as in… great?"

Bounty grunted in affirmation. He'd never liked the meaning of his name. It made him sound noble, or heroic. He was neither of those things.

Finn didn't reply for a while, looking Bounty up and down. Then his eyes came to settle on Bounty's, and his eyebrow twisted upwards. "Disappointing, much?"

"Bastard."

"Pig."

And in that moment, Bounty found the noose of dread around his throat had loosened slightly. Not by much, but enough for a small, fledging smile to slip out. Finn returned one of his own, equally fleeting. But they were there nonetheless. "Let's give these bitches something to remember us by."

Both men locked eyes. Both men nodded. The first Grimm came into view.

"COME AT US, YOU BASTARDS!" roared Bounty and Finn as both depressed their triggers.

* * *

Bea parried Winter's strike, then thrust her sword at her gut, but Winter was too quick. She sidestepped Bea's attack, forcing her to yank her arm back or be left exposed. A rush of blows ensured, before Bea was able to knock Winter's blade aside and back up. Winter followed her step for step down the narrow corridor.

Bea rapidly assessed her options. She needed to get to Watts, and soon. But to do that she'd have to go through Winter. That path looked increasingly unattractive. Winter was exceptional with her weapon, and although Bea was manging to match her blow for blow so far, there was no guarantee that she would win this fight. And even if she did, her aura would be too low to take on Watts afterwards. She needed to end this fight quickly. But how?

"Damnit Winter, open your eyes. Watts is using you. He started this war to destroy Vale and you're helping him achieve that."

"I will not fall for your lies, traitor," Winter hissed back.

"You don't need to listen to me; just look outside. There's all the evidence you need."

"I am loyal to Atlas."

"So am I. But I'm more loyal to humanity."

Winter attacked again, but Bea was ready for it. Bea had never been the strongest Huntress. She'd also never been the quickest, or the most agile, or the most durable. She was self-aware enough to realise that. But she did have one advantage that had allowed her to not only survive as a Huntress, but also rise to one of the most prominent positions in the Atlesian military. She was the most observant. And that gave her the only edge she'd ever needed.

Bea studied her opponent, noting every time a muscle tensed or her balance shifted. She noticed Winter's knees bend by a fraction. Spotted her sword arm reach back ever so slightly. Marked her eyes focusing on their target; her left side.

Winter lunged, an acceleration glyph making her impossibly fast, but Bea was already moving, twisting her body to parry the attack. Winter's eyes flared. A feint. Bea yanked her sword back across her body and slammed it into Winter's sabre. Electricity arced up the blade from Bea's electrified weapon, but Winter was protected from the shock by her leather grip.

"I never thought a Schnee would be so glad to be someone else's lapdog," Bea sneered.

"Silence!" Winter growled.

"Make me."

Winter's face contorted into a snarl. Her weapon clicked, just as Bea knew it would. Winter's dagger came swinging for her head, aiming for her temple. Bea was already ducking. She slammed her elbow into Winter's chin, then disengaged and swiped for her midriff. But even in a dazed state, Winter was too experienced to go down that easily. She backflipped away, then rose to face Bea again, now with two blades angled towards her heart.

An idea came to Bea. Winter was an exceptional fighter; well-trained, disciplined, and searingly fast. But she was also hot-headed and incredibly easy to anger. That temper had gotten her in trouble with General Ironwood on numerous occasions. Perhaps Bea could use that. After all, if she couldn't beat Winter with swords, maybe she could do so with words. "I thought you were trained to be a Huntress," she mocked. "You went to Atlas Academy, didn't you? I wasn't aware they taught mass genocide as a lesson."

Winter's only reply was to attack, whipping towards Bea in a flurry in steel. Bea blocked and parried as fast as she could, barely keeping up with the blur that had become Winter's twin blades. The ring of their weapons became the only conversation as Bea focused everything she had on keeping with up Winter. She was forced to back up, losing ground as Winter forced her further and further down the corridor, though that at least bought her time to speak.

"Or maybe it was at the Schnee manor that they taught you to disregard human life," Bea continued to taunt. "After all, with your family's track record for the Faunus, maybe it wasn't such a huge jump from there to murder."

"How dare you speak of my family's name like that," Winter spat. "I'll have your tongue for that!"

"But of course it's the Schnee mentality that they are entitled to take whatever they please. After all, what has your father ever produced for the betterment of mankind?" A sword swung for her neck. Bea barely managed to duck in time.

"Shut up," Winter gritted out, refusing to cease her barrage for even a moment. "Just shut up!"

"You know, I may be a traitor, Winter, but at least I can call that as my own. What are you, special operative Schnee? A name and a rank. Take that away and you're nothing. Maybe that's why you're so terrified to disobey orders to do what's right: you might actually get demoted."

Winter roared in Bea's face. Bea could barely contain the grin that wanted to blossom. She'd broken the fighter's calm. Winter was already losing discipline in favour of simply slamming her weapons at Bea. She had her right where she wanted he—

Bea's back slammed against a wall at the end of the corridor and Bea's elation turned to ash in her mouth.

Winter's eyes lit up. Bea's own widened. She was trapped. Winter brought her sabre down in an overhead strike for Bea's head. Bea threw her weapon up and halted its counter-part's progress.

Something silver flashed between them, and Bea's hand lunged forward, snatching Winter's wrist. The dagger it held angled towards Bea's stomach as Winter began to _push_. Bea grunted and heaved back against the slowly advancing blade, her other hand tied up with holding Winter's sabre back.

Ok, new plan.

If Winter were able to reach her gut, Bea's aura would kick in and prevent the blade from cutting her. But it would drain for however long Winter applied pressure to it. Winter could simply press her dagger against her until her aura ran out. If that happened, she lost.

Bea's mind whirled, plans forming and dissolving in her mind in a flurry of ideas, none of them useful to her situation. She scoured her brain for anything that might save her now, perhaps something related to Winter: a weakness, or something like that. A thought tickled the back of her mind, but she couldn't quite grasp at it.

Winter leaned in to their locked blades, her face furious as she hissed, "I am more than just my title."

"Then prove it," Bea growled. "Watts is controlling you. It's his semblance. If you're really more than his puppet, then snap out of it. Do the right thing here. Save Vale."

"And how do I know everything you've said to me hasn't been a lie?" Winter demanded. The thought itched at the back of her mind again, toying her with its proximity, but for the life of her she couldn't reach it.

The dagger came within an inch of Bea's torso. Her arm shook, threatening to buckle at any moment. "You don't," Bea grunted. Winter's eyes narrowed. "And I've got no way to prove it to you. But Watts is flying one of the most destructive fleets on Remnant towards Vale. Are you willing to risk me being right?"

The dagger grazed Bea's stomach. She sucked in a breath, feeling her strength about to fail. She gritted her teeth, tears welling in her eyes. She was going to die. She was never going to be able to meet her brother again, never make right all that had gone wrong between them.

A pressure seemed to build within Bea's skull, pounding for release; a fact right on the verge of remembrance.

Her sibling meant everything to her and she'd never get to see him agai—

Sibling.

The memory exploded through Bea's mind. "Your sister's in Vale," she hissed.

The knife's motion stopped.

"You didn't think of that, did you," Bea continued, eyeing the blade still held mere centimetres from impaling her. "Because Watts wouldn't let you. He told you everything would be fine, didn't he? He told you not to worry, so you didn't. Every time you'd have come close to thinking about her, his semblance would have steered your mind away from it. You've barely thought about her this entire invasion, haven't you? And if you have at all, it's only been for a few moments before your mind's moved on. If I'm wrong about any of this, then go ahead and finish me." Bea wasn't sure if she was right about any of that, but it was her best guess. And she was very good at guessing.

And judging by the sudden lack of pressure on either of her arms, this time she'd guessed right.

Winter stumbled back, her weapons falling to her side. Cautiously, Bea lowered her weapons as well. "What was her name again?" Bea asked gently. "Wish? West?"

"Weiss," answered Winter, her eyes a mix between shock and horror. Bea didn't say anything more. She knew she didn't need to. "I didn't realise she would be in this war until it had already begun," Winter blurted. "I had no time to warn her. No time to get her out of harm's way. I would have still tried to contact her, except…"

"Watts told you not to," Naomi figured. Winter nodded. "I know the feeling. My twin brother is in Vale's army. I don't even know if he's alive or not. But if we allow Vale to be destroyed, I know they'll never forgive us."

Winter looked at Bea, then down at her uniform. "I don't know what the right thing to do is anymore," she admitted. "The military is the only thing I have. I was brought up to inherit the Schnee dust company, but since joining the army my father has all but disowned me. If I disgrace myself here, then what do I have left?"

"You have your sister. Isn't that enough?"

Winter paused, uncertain. "Yes," she realised. "It is." Winter blinked, as if waking from a long dream. Bea smiled. It had worked. Then Winter looked at Bea and her eyes hardened. "Where is Watts?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hang on a minute. I'm taking down Watts."

"You? On your own?" scoffed Winter. "Don't be ridiculous. And don't let pride blind you."

"I'm not—"

"Have you noticed that Gen—I mean, Watts is always followed by his bodyguard. Hazel, I think his name is. How do you intend on engaging them both?" Bea paused. She didn't have an answer for that. "Then it is settled," decided Winter. "You and I will bring them both to justice together."

Bea opened her mouth to object, then shut it like a goldfish. Winter hadn't been back two minutes, and she was already giving orders.

The thought, strangely, made Bea want to smile. Some things never changed.

"Let's go get them then," she said.

* * *

Pyrrha didn't know Cinder. She didn't know her semblance, wasn't aware of her weapon, and had never seen her fight before. Cinder, on the other hand, was fighting against one of the most televised warriors in all of Remnant. Every time she attacked, Cinder blocked. When she feinted, Cinder saw it coming. And when she tried to break her guard up close, Cinder would simply fly further away, keeping Pyrrha at a range where she could hurl ranged attacks at her. She had clearly been watching Pyrrha for some time, perhaps anticipating this confrontation. She had the upper hand on every level.

Then there were the Grimm to contend with.

Pyrrha leapt back as flames washed over the spot she'd just been standing on. Hot breath slithered down her neck. She dropped to the floor and spun, cutting down the Beowolf at the knee, but that left her back exposed. She dove to the side as a fireball collided with what remained of the Beowolf, igniting its fur. The wolf went down wailing in agony.

Pyrrha whirled back and went for Cinder again, her sword striking for her heart. In an instant Cinder had summoned two, obsidian-black blades, knocking Pyrrha's attack aside easily. Pyrrha didn't stop, allowing her momentum to drive her shield into Cinder's face. Cinder's head snapped backwards as she stumbled from the blow. Pyrrha saw her chance and sliced for Cinder's neck. In response, Cinder merely ignited a fireball between them.

Pyrrha's eyes widened. She yanked her shield between herself and Cinder's glowing hands just as the explosion erupted between them. She flew backwards, spinning in the air and just about managing to get her feet underneath her as she slid to a stop. Whatever Cinder was using—dust, semblance or something else entirely—it was powerful.

She'd landed in the street, a department store behind her. A growl from her right had her shifting her sword to a rifle as she blasted at a group of Grimm rushing her.

It was as her attention was focused elsewhere that a fireball slammed into her chest, tossing her aside. She slammed into the shopfront window behind and kept going, landing heavily behind the store's counter. Glass showering her aching body as she lay crumpled on the floor.

Pyrrha growled a reprimand at herself. She should have been more aware of her surroundings. It wouldn't have happened on a normal day. But after a sleepless night evacuating civilians and an endless morning of fighting Grimm, this was far from a normal day.

A fireball collided with the wall above the counter, igniting the interior of the building. Flames licked down the smoking wall, reaching for Pyrrha. Time to go. She leapt over the counter and hurled her shield at where the attack had come from, hoping to buy herself some time. As she went, she snatched up a packet of nails she found off a shelf, ripping the bag open. A pang of guilt lanced through her at the thought that she'd just trashed and robbed a store, but that was soon pushed from her mind as she saw her enemy again.

Cinder rocketed towards Pyrrha, her arms outstretched to grab her throat. Pyrrha hurled her gloved hands in front of her, _pushing_ the nails at Cinder. The tiny bullets whizzed at the glowing woman, catching her by surprise in the face.

She cursed and threw out her hand, creating a cone of fire that incinerated any pellets still coming from her front. But Pyrrha didn't want them to come from the front anymore. Still sensing the ricocheting bits metal flying outwards, Pyrrha now _pulled_ them back to her. Cinder shrieked as the returning nails slammed into her from behind. She twisted in mid-air to try to see what was attacking her. Pyrrha saw her opening. She leapt for the woman still racing towards her and swung her sword, landing a solid blow across her torso. Cinder cried out, then careened into the very building she herself had set on fire.

Pyrrha took the time to call her shield back to her hand. She was too experienced to believe the fight was over. She checked her aura reserves on her scroll. Still in the green, though verging on yellow. Although neither Cinder nor the Grimm had landed too many solid hits on her, the use of her semblance was draining it faster than she'd like. She had to keep an eye on that.

Cinder finally made her move, though it wasn't what Pyrrha had expected. She'd been waiting for the woman to pounce at her through the inferno, or perhaps to hurl a few fireballs from within the shop. What she hadn't expected was for the ground to attack her.

It had started as a whispering, something Pyrrha hadn't even noticed. Then it had risen, evolving to sound like a boiling kettle. The ground began to heat from beneath Pyrrha's shoes, burning her soles. She glanced down and gasped. Beneath her spun a blazing pattern, like a whirling vortex. She didn't have time to think. She flipped to the side just as the ground exploded, showering her with debris.

Before she'd even properly regained her footing, a second swirling pattern appeared. Then a third. Then a fourth. Pyrrha dodged them all but felt her stomach clenching. These attacks were pushing her closer towards the destroyed store. She was being herded.

Pyrrha launched her shield into the fiery shop, using her polarity to send it careening around inside. She felt it clang to a halt on something. Cinder.

Pyrrha wound back her arm and propelled her spear to the spot she knew her opponent was occupying. A flash of orange burst from within, and Pyrrha felt her spear drop uselessly to the ground, also blocked. Pyrrha reached out with both arms and _pulled_ her weapons back to her, but both were wacked aside as a fiery tornado erupted from within the shop. Pyrrha gasped as the entire building shuddered, then paused, then slowly, ever so slowly, began to tilt forward, its shadow blotting out the morning sun as it teetered over her.

Pyrrha didn't wait to see what would happen. She ran. Turned and raced as fast as she could. The four-story building tipped forward, gaining speed at a gut-wrenching rate. It sped towards the ground, a mousetrap snapping down on its helpless victim. Never before had anything incited such speed from her.

It was all for nothing.

Just as she judged she would make it out of the way, a fiery whip snagged her ankle, dragging her down. Pyrrha spun onto her back, watching the brick sky come crashing towards her. If the whole building fell on her, she'd die, aura or not.

She flung out her polarity, grasping at the very end of its reach. She sensed something large and metallic in the building opposite, perhaps a lift shaft. She reached out with all her strength and _pulled_ the lift towards her…

…sending Pyrrha flying towards the lift.

If she were the magnet, her targets were the pieces of iron. Small items: Miló and Akoúo̱, would be pulled towards her. But if she attracted a larger item, or something tethered to something larger, then what was holding her back from being pulled towards it?

She always had to be aware of this fact, constantly adjusting her balance to keep herself from flying off her feet when she used her semblance. But now this quirk of her semblance was saving her life.

The building collided with the ground, sending a seismic wave shuddering through the earth. Pyrrha's pull saved her life, but it couldn't yank her away quite fast enough. A falling piece of masonry slammed into the floor and cracked. Half of it fell one way, but the other half toppled over Pyrrha. She screamed as the pillar of stone slammed into her chest, blasting the air out her lungs. Her aura just about saved her from being crushed, but it couldn't save her completely.

Pain exploded through her chest. Pyrrha gasped in agony. Tears burned her eyes. At least a few ribs were broken for sure, not to mention the internal bleeding she must have had. She wheezed in a breath, feeling for sure that her lungs were about to collapse under the weight. She struggled against the rubble pinning her down, but it was no good. She was trapped. She felt like a drowning rat caught in a cage, unable to breath, unable to escape. She fought back the acrid taste in her mouth and the urge to brawl her eyes out like a baby. She was Pyrrha Nikos. The invincible girl. She could escape this. She had to. Because if her adversary found her like this now—

Heels clicked on tarmac. Pyrrha's blood turned to ice in her veins. Slowly, she turned her head to see Cinder sauntering towards her, her eyes filled with cruel delight.

No. No, no, no, no, no. It couldn't end this way. Not like this. Not now.

Cinder strode closer. "Did you honestly believe you'd achieve anything?" she mocked, scorn oozing from her voice. "You're a fool, invincible girl. All you've done is delayed the inevitable. Vale will still fall. Man will still crumble. And there is nothing you can do about it."

Pyrrha shoved uselessly against the crushing weight atop her. Cinder now stood directly above Pyrrha, delighting in her helpless prey. Then she slowly, deliberately, put a heel on top of the rubble holding her down and pushed.

Pyrrha screamed, her shrill voice echoing across the square. Cinder grinned in pure, psychotic elation and pushed again, earning another cry of pain from Pyrrha. Pyrrha's vision blurred as she fought to stay awake against the agony. Tears bled from her eyes, mixing with the dust and grime on her face to leave clear tracks for Cinder to relish.

Pyrrha threw her gaze around, searching for anything that would help. Her teammates were out of the picture, too close to being overwhelmed by the Grimm to save her. No help was coming. She was alone.

Cinder smirked at Pyrrha, sadistic glee lighting up her eyes as she whispered, "I guess you're not so invincible after all."

Cinder stepped back at last. Pyrrha gasped in relief. But then Cinder held out her hand. The ground underneath Pyrrha began to rise in temperature, first to a cosy warm, then to an uncomfortable hot, and then to an unbearable boil. Pyrrha panicked. Aura could protect against physical attacks but could do nothing to prevent heat transfer.

And Cinder knew it.

Pyrrha felt herself frying from the outside in. Her skin began to burn and hiss. Pain lanced up from every contact point with the ground. She screamed. Cinder smiled.

Pyrrha couldn't take it anymore. She threw out her polarity, searching for something, _anything_ to save her from baking alive. She felt spent bullet casings and shards of broken metal from the collapsed building. She summoned them all, using them to create a maelstrom of tiny projectiles that swirled around Cinder, biting and cutting into her bit by bit.

"Pathetic," Cinder scorned, before blasting the metal away with a single wave of her hand. Pyrrha desperately searched for more, but it had all be cremated or blasted out of range by Cinder's attack.

The heat intensified another level, and Pyrrha almost blacked out from the pain. She desperately clung onto consciousness, even though every waking moment was agony, and the soothing balm of unconsciousness beckoned. She began weeping. She didn't want to go into the darkness. Oh god she didn't want to go into the endless night.

Cinder began laughing. She thought she'd won. Pyrrha kept searching, hoping, praying, crying to find something—

There! Pyrrha didn't waste even a second identifying what it was. Using the very weight crushing her as a tether, she focused her entire mind on a large piece of discarded metal and _hurled_ it at Cinder.

Something big blurred past her vision and slammed into Cinder. It was the remnants of the blast doors that had previously covered the Breach. The two went flying out of sight. Immediately the rising heat abated. Pyrrha wept in relief, not even caring about the death weight still crushing her chest, only that for now she was alive.

After what might have been a second or an hour or a year, Ren appeared in her view, worry contorting his face. He called her name, but Pyrrha could only whimper in reply. He heaved against the slab of stone holding Pyrrha down, and even though her blistering shoulders screamed at the pressure on them, Pyrrha helped as best she could. Ren finally managed to drag the debris off Pyrrha. He rushed to her side, helping her sit up. Pyrrha gritted her teeth as her broken ribs flared in pain, but she blinked the tears back. Cinder had made her cry too much already. Ren examined her burnt back, gently prodding her in places, but Pyrrha hissed anytime his fingers touched her charred flesh, so Ren dutifully abated.

Pyrrha wished it could all be over right then, but she hadn't forgotten their primary goal. She looked back at the Breach, only to realise with horror that the hoard had swollen to a monstrous sea of black bodies and white masks. She turned to Ren. "We have to get back in there."

"There's too many of them," Ren told her sadly. "We have to fall back. We're all too drained to stop them here."

Pyrrha went to argue, but then looked back, biting her lip. It was true. Qrow was trying to organise a retreat, Weiss and Blake were already withdrawing, and even Nora was slowly backing up. Ruby and Yang were still occupied with the strangers, and she herself was wise enough to know she was in no state for combat.

But even as she watched the Breach with growing dismay, a group of Beowolves broke off from the group and raced down a side street, growling their bloody-intent. There was no one to stop them. Tears filled her eyes as Pyrrha realised people were going to die. Innocents. They'd failed. Even if they regrouped and pushed back the Grimm, in the time it took to do so countless civilians would die.

The Beowolves made it to the end of the street, spotting a group of humans further down. They howled in victory. Pyrrha could barely watch as the humans turned and fled, so slow compared to the Grimm bearing down on them. Pyrrha saw the Grimm leap at them…

And watched as they turned into a bloody splatter on the street.

Pyrrha blinked. The humans kept running, not even realising they weren't being chased anymore. The humans hadn't been killed. The Grimm had.

Pyrrha looked up to the sky, and what she saw took her breath away.

Bullheads. Dozens of them, soaring through the air, a great armada swarming towards the battlefield. But they weren't Atlesian. They were from Vale. No.

They were from Beacon.

Tears filled Pyrrha's eyes again, but this time for a completely different reason. "They came," breathed Ren.

"They came," agreed Pyrrha, smiling.

The closest airship, its Gatling gun still smoking, came in to hover above the square. The bay doors flew open, and out jumped team CFVY. Fox, Yatsuhashi and Velvet immediately went for the Grimm, cleaving a path through them directly to the other entrenched Huntsmen. Coco, meanwhile, spotted Ren and Pyrrha sitting there and waltzed over.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the cavalry!" Coco quipped, grinning from ear to ear. "I thought I heard that you lot decided to take on the Grimm hoard by yourselves." She winked. "Thanks for leaving a few for us."

"I feel it should be us thanking you," Ren said. "You have impeccable timing."

"How?" breathed Pyrrha.

Coco shrugged. "You've got Oz to thank for that."

"Professor Ozpin?" gasped Pyrrha.

"The one and only. He called an emergency assembly in the morning and gave us this big, rousing speech about the world needing us today and standing up for what was right, blah, blah, blah. You know how it is with him. Anyway, long story short, he asked us all to pay you lot a visit. Thanks to you guys, I get to miss Grimm studies with Port. How could I resist his plea?"

"But… but Professor Ozpin wouldn't help us. He said Beacon was too important to leave undefended," said Pyrrha.

Coco shrugged. "Well something you said must have changed his mind. He's even got the teachers involved. Look." Just as Coco said that, four more bullheads opened their doors and emptied their cargo onto the battlefield. True to Coco's word, one of the Bullheads emptied the entire Beacon faculty onto the ground. The other three carried student teams, and Pyrrha even spotted Cardin's old team: Sky, Russel and Dove, diving out of one and falling upon the Grimm in a frenzy.

Pyrrha could barely believe what her own eyes and ears were telling her. Professor Ozpin had changed his mind. He was helping. But then another thought flashed through her mind. "Wait, who's defending Beacon then?"

Coco shrugged again. "Just about all the students are either fighting here or helping to evacuate civies. I guess I never saw Oz getting on a Bullhead though."

Pyrrha's mind began to whirl. Professor Ozpin had said there was an object of incredible power hidden within Beacon. But if no one was left to defend it but him…

As if answering her worst nightmare, a blaze of fire suddenly lit up the square. Pyrrha turned to see the blast door flying off to the side, and Cinder rising above the battle.

"Who's that chick?" asked Coco.

"Cinder," growled Pyrrha.

Cinder drank in the sight, her eyes awash with delight as she saw the entirety of the Beacon residence dropping in to contain the Breach. Then she turned and flew away from the battlefield.

Straight towards Beacon.

Pyrrha pulled herself to her feet, ignoring the stab of pain as she did so. Ren looked at her worriedly. "I need to get back to Beacon," she stated.

"What, now?" Coco asked. "You're missing all the fun here."

"Now," Pyrrha stated.

Coco's grin slid off her face as she realised this was serious. "You can take a Bullhead back to Beacon. We'll hold them off here." Coco pulled out her weapon, transforming the handbag into a mini gun. "These fuckers just crushed my favourite shoe shop. It's time I got some accessory revenge."

Ren held out a hand to her before she could leave. "Pyrrha, you are in no state to fight, let alone go after Cinder on your own."

"I'm not on my own," corrected Pyrrha. "I've got my team."

Ren's eyebrows raised in surprise, but then a small smile split his face. "I'll go get Nora."

As Ren went to drag Nora back from the battlefield, Pyrrha glanced at her aura on her scroll. Red. Not even enough to heal her of her current injuries. But still there, even if it was just a sliver. Still enough to make a difference.

This was her destiny. She knew it. To stop Cinder. To save the world. Besides, their fight had been cut short; neither had technically won it. And Pyrrha, the invincible girl, was not about to let Cinder get away with thinking she had.

* * *

Professor Ozpin stood on the Beacon launchpad at the end of the school lawn and watched the city he claimed to protect down below. From all the way up here, one could almost fool themselves into thinking it was an ordinary day, like any other. Throughout all his lives, it had never failed to astound him how much a little perspective could do for oneself. Vale might have been about to fall and the world about to be plunged into an age of darkness, but from all the way up in space, he doubted anyone would even notice. The cosmos went on. Even if humanity did not.

Finally, his wait came to an end as a raven-haired figure landed a little way away. "Cinder, I presume," he greeted. His posture didn't change an inch.

"Where is the maiden, Ozpin," Cinder demanded.

"The maiden? I had assumed your mistress would have been more interested in the relic of choice."

Cinder growled at 'mistress'. Interesting. "Salem wants the relic, but she has promised me that I may take the power that is rightfully mine."

"You mean the power you stole," Ozpin corrected.

A fireball ignited in Cinder's hand. "If you will not tell me where she is, then I will find her once you're dead and your school is in ruins."

Ozpin sighed. Why did it always have to come to violence? "Very well then." Ozpin repositioned his grip on his cane and crouched into a battle stance.

"Just one more question," Cinder purred as she levitated above Ozpin. "What could have possibly made you decide to leave Beacon undefended? Were you so arrogant as to think you alone would be enough to stop the power of Salem?"

Ozpin considered the question. "It was something one of my students reminded me of. I have lived for so long, fought against Salem for so long, that sometimes I have found myself forgetting why I do it all. She reminded me why."

"And why is that?" sneered Cinder.

"To protect the people of my city. Not the buildings, and certainly not its antics."

Cinder snorted her derision. "Then you will die protecting your precious people."

Ozpin nodded. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

 **Dun dun dun! Finally got the Cinder vs Pyrrha match, except it looks like it might not be over just yet. And if you guys think Pyrrha shouldn't have been beaten by Cinder with only half the maiden powers when she barely lost to full-maiden powered Cinder, I would remind you that Pyrrha is shattered in this story by the time of their fight. She's almost out of energy, her reaction time is going to be slower after getting no sleep the night before, and she's already lost some aura from fighting against the Grimm. She's clearly not going to be at her peak, and Cinder is without doubt going to have the edge over her.**

 **Fortunately, Beacon to the rescue. Now this is where I might get some flak; going back on Ozpin's decision apparently for the sake of plot. Now I do see how you might view it this way, but I promise you it's not. I always intended Ozpin to change his mind about saving Vale, and in this chapter Ozpin fully says that what Pyrrha said to him before she left their last conversation was what changed his mind. In my eyes, Ozpin isn't a shady manipulator who uses people for his own ends like some people theorise; he's a human. A human who's been living for thousands of years, slowly watching everyone he loves die around him one by one, only for him to be reincarnated, forced to steal the soul of a hapless victim, and repeat the process endlessly. And the only way he can stop this is to beat Salem. I can very easily see Ozpin becoming apathetic and distant from others after all the emotional strain he's undoubtedly gone through dozens of times. In his mind, he's been so focused on the end goal - killing Salem - that he's slowly forgotten why he even fought in the first place. For him, all that mattered was stopping Salem, and anything and everything was allowed to achieve this goal, even sacrificing thousands of lives for the 'greater good'. For Ozpin, the end always justifies the means. But then Pyrrha reminds him that the whole reason he fights Salem is to save humanity, which he sees as his 'city' (it's a metonym for the human race which he has to protect/watch over). Pyrrha made him realise that by sacrificing Vale (and therefore humanity) to save humanity, Salem has already won, and he's failed as a Huntsman. That's why he changed his mind and sent the Beacon students to fight.**

 **That's just how I see canon Ozpin. Feel free to tell me how you view him, and whether you agree with my interpretation or not in a review. Until next time.**


	26. Chapter 26 - Confrontation

**As of Monday this week, the 1st of October, this fanfic will be exactly 1 year old. It's so surreal to think of how much of my life has been dedicated to this story. Not just in writing either, but hours of proofreading, pages of planning, nights thinking about it, days talking about it, free moments spent playing out conversations and scenes in my head, dozens of glorious reviews read, and tips, critiques, compliments, queries and just generally uplifting things heard from you guys.** **It's even more crazy to think that it's almost done. It's been an incredible and unbelievably rewarding year, and it couldn't have happened without you guys. So here's a shoutout to all of you. Whether you started following this story since day one and convinced me that I could undertake such a huge thing, or whether you've only just seen it and your view has given me the motivation to write yet another chapter, I thank each and every one of you.**

 **TLDR; happy birthday to Sergeant Arc, and thanks to everyone who reads this.**

 **Ok, sappy talk over, let's get on with the chapter.**

* * *

" _It is such a paradox this war, which produces the worst in man, and also raises him to the summits of self-sacrifice, self-denial and altruism"_

 _George Silverton_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Six—Confrontation**

Cat didn't worry. She didn't fret. She certainly didn't wring her hands in anxiousness or pace up and down in a vain attempt to sate the butterflies in her stomach. And she didn't—god forbid—panic in the face of adversary. But that didn't stop one sentence from churning through her mind over and over, oozing into every other thought and contaminating her mind like a seething pile of shit.

She was going to kill them.

If they weren't dead, she was going to kill them.

Screw the logic of that, Jaune and the others should have arrived by now. Cat's bullhead—consisting of her, Aiden, Terrier and that caveman, Cardin—had landed over half an hour ago after outrunning—and more importantly, outgunning—those flying rodents. They'd hidden their ship as best they could under a rocky outcropping, then waited to see Jaune's ship come soaring over the horizon in all its underwhelming glory, having nonchalantly danced past death by the skin of their teeth yet again.

So they'd waited. And waited. And waited. Cat had gone from standing with her arms crossed, a jibe at Jaune's tardiness already on her lips, to sitting on a nearby rock and watching the sky patiently, to tapping her foot to the beat of her increased heartrate, to getting back up and scouring the horizon for any sign of them, patience shot to shreds and stomach taking up arms in its own civil war, one treacherous question chasing her mind endlessly.

Where the fuck were they?

"It's been too long?" fretted Terrier, ever one to state the bloody obvious. The pale kid had bitten his nails down to their very cuticles in worry. At least the others seemed to be holding themselves together somewhat better. Aiden was lying on his stomach on a nearby ridgeline, eye glued to his scope, scanning the barren desert around them. To a stranger, they would have sworn he was the epitome of calm and collected. But Cat knew better. She'd learnt how to read the tenseness in his shoulders, the stiffness of his wolf tail. He was worried alright.

Cardin, meanwhile, was resting on his mace, the bullish weapon acting as a prop for the armoured brute. Trust Cardin to pick the weapon that basically resembled a club. There was probably a metaphor somewhere in there, but Cat couldn't be arsed to find it.

Instead, she spent her time scouring the hellscape, raking her eyes over the terrain in a vain effort to spot even a glimmer of movement from her surroundings. Not that she was worried about them or anything, but just so she'd be able see when the others arrived. But despite her best efforts, she saw nothing. Nothing but the wind toying with the dusty ground. She could swear the bloodied horizon was mocking her with its emptiness.

It wasn't like their rendezvous was hard to see—it was bloody impossible to miss. Cat felt her eyes trailing to the side, to where Phil's coordinates had led them.

Dark, red bricks verging on brown, like spoilt wine. A large set of double doors that opened into some kind of hallway, beyond which lay the main body of the building, perched perilously on the edge of a cliff. Tall, winding towers, for what purpose Cat couldn't even begin to discern—though that didn't stop her mind from trying. Stained-glass windows, mercifully too dark to see the stories depicted in them, not dissimilar from a cathedral, as if the architecture were designed to make a mockery of what was considered holy among humanity.

A castle. A goddamned, freaking castle—and in the middle of hell itself! If that didn't set off the alarm bells—and it most certainly did for Cat—she didn't know what would. She had absolutely zero reservations about naming that the home of Salem.

"I swear to god, if you've gotten them lost, Arc," Cardin muttered.

"Shut up, Cardin," she snapped, jumping to the defence of Jaune—though not because she cared about him or anything. "This wouldn't have happened if we'd gone back for them like I'd said we should."

"Like you'd said?" scoffed Cardin. "As I remember it, you were glued to your seat and screaming like a four-year-old."

"Shut the fuck up, Cardin," snarled Cat, hands curling into claws at her sides.

"That's Field Sergeant Winchester to you," he growled right back.

Cat would have happily leapt at Cardin then, kicking and scratching with enough vigour to put a snow leopard to shame. Her skin felt like it had bugs crawling underneath it. She needed a release. But just at that moment, Aiden silenced them both. "I have found them!"

In an instant, Cardin was forgotten. Cat scrambled to Aiden's side. "Where?" she demanded. Aiden pointed, and Cat squinted at the ridgeline he indicated. There, just visible against the red sky and the red ground—damn, everything was red here—bobbed a mop of blue hair. Cat sagged in relief. Nuke was alive. That alone was almost enough to bring a smile to her face, though she quickly hid it.

"Something is wrong," said Aiden. Cat glanced at him, noticing the way his tail froze its gentle wag. A knot of something in her stomach—definitely not worry—clenched angrily.

"What?"

"I see Jaune," Aiden explained shakily. "But I only see two other people with him."

Two, when Jaune had left with four.

Heavy silence descended on the group. A dull, insistent thumping began in Cat's head. _Thump. Thump. Thump_. Eventually, it was Terrier who said, "We should go meet them. Find out what's happened."

No one objected to that, not even Cardin. The four of them scrambled down the rise they were on and scurried towards the other half of Beta section. The half that looked suspiciously small. _Thump. Thump. Thump._

It wasn't long before the two sides met. Cat immediately found her way to Nuke's side, checking her for injuries. She had a bump on her head and a few minor cuts, but nothing too serious. What was more worrying was the look in her eyes. Eyes that wouldn't meet her own. Guilty eyes. _Thump. Thump. Thump._

"Nuke…" she began.

"Arc, what happened?" Cardin demanded. Jaune's features were wide. Shocked. Disbelieving. "Arc, I need a debrief."

"Where are Finn and Bounty?" asked Aiden.

Silence. _Thump. Thump. Thump._

"Where are they?" repeated Terrier.

Jaune's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He shook his head, unwilling or unable to speak. "Bounty hurt his leg." This came from Nuke, tears flowing down her cheeks; tears of sadness, yes, but also… shame. _Thump. Thump. Thump._ "The Grimm were chasing us." _Thump._ "We couldn't carry him fast enough." _Thump._ "He… he told us to leave him behind…"

The thumping stopped.

"What?"

Cat's voice was ten degrees colder than the iciest pit on Remnant. She took a step away from Naomi.

"We didn't have any other choice," pleaded Naomi, reaching for her. "Cat, please…"

Cat slipped out of Naomi's reach, staring at her. "You left him behind?"

"The Grimm were about to get us all," Lightning Phil leapt to the defence of Naomi. "We had to leave them."

"Them?" demanded Cat, eyes flaring. Lightning winced.

"Uh… Finn went back for Bounty. We were so busy running, we didn't even realise. It all happened so fast."

"We're going back," stated Cat, voice still scarily quiet.

"I'm sorry, Cat." Heterochromic eyes met brown as Cat's gaze locked onto Naomi. "They're dead."

The pounding in Cat's head was gone, and in its place, Cat heard only a crashing. The crashing of the waves on a sea wall, on the jagged rocks at the base of a cliff. A continuous, resounding rush and crush of the ocean, rising in volume, consuming her mind, gobbling down every other sense.

Finn and Bounty were dead. Killed at the hands of the Grimm, their bodies defied, mutilated, turned into chew toys for those demons. Cat tried to imagine what that must have been like—she couldn't. The gnashing teeth. The tearing claws and tusks and talons. It was too much. Her mind wanted to block it out, bury it, think of anything but that moment where the Grimm had fallen upon, that instant of pure, unimaginable terror, before the pain had started. Before the tearing, grinding, ripping, shredding, bleeding and screaming had begun. Had Bounty welcomed death? Had it been a relief, a welcomed caress by Death's hand before his suffering was no more? Had he died, thinking how the others had all abandoned him?

Except they hadn't, not all of them. Because Finn had gone back—he'd gone back because he hadn't wanted to abandon another team member. Because Cat had made him promise not to.

Cat's legs were jelly, and she felt sick, sick to her very core; her stomach heaved, but nothing came up. Finn had died, and it was her fault.

Her fault.

Her fault.

Her fault.

"Cat…" It was Naomi, approaching her like someone would an injured lion, wanting to help but fearing receiving a claw to the face for her efforts. Fear, anguish, sorrow, guilt and regret all warred in her eyes; those eyes, which had watched as Bounty had been left behind and had done nothing.

Cat blinked. What the hell? This was Naomi she was talking about—Nuke—her friend, her sister. Cat forced down those treacherous feelings inside her, the disgust she felt just by looking at her. Nuke would have done everything she could have to save them. But Cat hadn't. Cat had done nothing. Again.

"We need to keep moving," said Cardin. "If we stay here too long the Grimm will find us."

Jaune looked up at Cardin, seeming to shake off his trance-like disbelief. He nodded once, then nodded again, more firmly this time, as if settling his mind. "We'll break into the castle. Salem must be in there. Follow me."

He turned and rushed away, followed immediately by Terrier, though he shot Cat a worried glance over his shoulder, unsure whether to attempt to comfort her. After him went Lightning, then Cardin, choosing very wisely not to say anything to her. Aiden paused, looking torn between Cat and Jaune, but eventually he came over and gave Cat's arm a quick squeeze. "We will mourn them together when this is all over." Then he was gone.

Last to leave was Nuke. She came over to Cat, wrapping her arms around her shoulders, but Cat felt no warmth from it. Only that burning emptiness inside her. "We need to go, Cat," whispered Nuke, but Cat didn't move. Instead she looked to the horizon, back the way Nuke and the others had come.

"Did you see them?" she interrogated.

"What?"

"Their bodies. Did you see their dead bodies?"

"No, but… when we left them it sounded like every Grimm on Remnant was converging on their position. They would have died within minutes."

"But there's a chance they didn't?"

"What are you… even if they're not dead yet, it would take too long to get back to them. They'd be dead before you arrive."

"But there's a chance they're not dead yet?"

"I don't—"

"Answer me!"

"I… there might be."

Then that was all the confirmation Cat needed. They couldn't be dead, they couldn't—Cat wouldn't accept that they were. She'd never even gotten to say goodbye. They had to still be alive, and that meant Cat still had a chance to save them.

Nuke saw the look in her eyes—of course she did. She put a restraining hand on her arm. "Cat, you can't go back. Even if they're alive, that place will be crawling with Grimm."

There was that word again. Such a simple, five-letter word. And yet every time she heard it, she felt a spike of cold dread, a flash of black before her eyes. She saw a burning set of red eyes, grown to monstrous proportions by the mind of a child, devouring the world until only they remained—huge, dominating, terrible.

For a moment, Cat almost second-guessed herself. She couldn't do this. She couldn't face those eyes again. She couldn't bear that fear, feel that pain, hear that beep of the hospital machine as she clawed her way back to the light, to the sunshine and the laughter and the life.

But then she remembered Finn and Bounty—her friends. She remembered that they would be facing those terrors right now, fighting the universe to cling to life just like she had when she'd finally woken up in a hospital bed all those years ago. And she also remembered her other fear, the one she'd kept hidden for so long she hadn't even known she'd possessed it until recently.

The fear of losing someone she cared about.

"Buzz died because my fear made me do nothing," she told Nuke. Her eyes widened. "I won't make the same mistake twice."

Tears welled in Nuke's eyes. "But Cat… what if I lose you too?"

Cat took Nuke's hands in her own. "You're a fighter Nuke. You're strong. You'll make it through." The two girls turned their heads as Jaune called back up to them. They made eye contact one last time. "Make sure you kill Salem for me. Don't leave it to the men to screw it up."

"Was that a dangling preposition I heard there?" Nuke half smiled.

"Pretentious snob."

"Uneducated troglodyte."

Cat pulled Nuke in for one last hug, holding her so tightly that not even the entire world—and god knew it was trying—could have torn them apart. Then they finally broke away and split up. Cat didn't glance over her shoulder as she ran the opposite direction to Nuke: to do so would only imply they wouldn't see each other again. They would. And she'd have Finnegan and Bounty in tow when she did.

They would owe her big time when she saved their sorry arses.

* * *

Jaune had thought leaving Bounty would be the hardest thing he'd ever do. Then he was proved wrong when he'd discovered Finn wasn't with them. Every cell in his body, every inch of his soul, tore at him, trying to drag him back to those two men. But Jaune had resisted. Though it cost Jaune everything he was, he kept moving, kept running, never once looking back. Bounty had paid with his life to allow them a single shot at killing Salem; Jaune wouldn't let that go to waste.

But then Naomi had arrived, only for Jaune to realise he'd lost yet another section member.

"Cat did what?" he gasped.

"We've got our mission, and Cat's got hers," replied Naomi, head held high, unyieldingly.

"And what if she dies?"

"Then that was her decision. We have to respect that." Respect Cat's decision; as if Jaune had any choice but to. She had already run off to goodness knew where.

Jaune couldn't worry about this now. He couldn't worry about any of it. They were in the final stretch to completing their mission; all they had to do now was get inside the castle and kill Salem. It made it sound so simple. So easy. Jaune knew the approaching fight would be anything but. He needed to have his head sharp and his wits about him.

So even though it pained him to do it, he pushed Cat and Bounty and Finn out of his mind and turned back to the castle. But before he could go any further, he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Cardin. "Jaune," he began, his voice gruff, "I just wanted to say… leaving some of your team behind… you made the right call. Not that it was… I mean, it wasn't fair that you had to do it, I just…" Cardin had a look of immense effort on his face, as if he were trying to spit something unpleasantly sticky out of his mouth. "I know what that's like," he finally said. "I know it couldn't have been easy." Jaune didn't reply. He'd already decided to stuff those feelings down into that dark place within him, that ever-growing pile of things he was too afraid to confront. Later, he told himself for the billionth time. He'd face it later.

Thankfully, Cardin didn't push the issue, and Jaune was able to continue moving. He needed to focus on the task at hand. Just focus on the now. The past would still be there when he was ready to confront it.

He approached the dark palace apprehensively, eyeing the brooding structure as one might a caged beast. He indicated the others to do the same, and soon what was left of his section plus Cardin were following him in one wary line.

When no monsters jumped out and no traps erupted beneath their feet to skewer them, they walked up to the front entrance; perhaps it wasn't the safest path to take, but Salem knew they were coming anyway: hiding their approach wouldn't do them any good. And besides, Naomi had reminded them that sometimes the obvious routes were the ones with the fewest obstacles.

Double doors made of a wood darker than any Jaune had ever seen groaned open as Cardin strained against them. A beam of sullied sunlight sliced into the newly-produced gap, illuminating what appeared to be a large foyer.

Jaune and the others stood on the threshold, peering into the gloom, hesitant of going any further. The inside was a similar shade of purply-brown as the exterior, lit by what appeared to be chandeliers made of intricate shards of glass. Pillars supported the vaulted roof, their bases formed from those mysterious, purple, dust crystals, so that it looked like trunks of dust sprouted from the ground, the poisoned plants reaching upwards with jagged branches to claim the ceiling. Jaune had seen several types of dust, but none looked like the ones that were littered throughout this land. An undiscovered one, perhaps? He doubted many people, if any, had come to this land, and if the dust only formed here, it wasn't too big of a stretch to assume it hadn't been documented before.

At the far end of the foyer, way, way back, loomed a second set of doors. These were made of a lighter wood than the entryway, a sort of greyish ash colour, crisscrossed with thick metal bars to strengthen it. Jaune was willing to bet lien that beyond that doorway was Salem.

Cardin whistled appreciatively. "Holy hell, you were actually telling the truth."

"Of course we were," snapped Terry. "Jaune wouldn't lie." Cardin snorted, but didn't respond.

Realising no one else was going to do it, Jaune took the first tentative step into the shadowy interior. Nothing happened. He took another step, his ears straining for a click that would signify a trap underneath him, yet still nothing but silence assaulted his ears.

He signalled the others to follow him, taking careful, measured strides into the enemy's domain. Still nothing attacked them. Somehow, that put Jaune more on edge than anything else.

Feeling as tense as a bowstring, but still seeing no direct threat, Jaune edged further inwards, forging his way deeper into his adversary's lair. The rest followed closely, their rifles clutched in bone-white fists. Even Cardin seemed on edge, his usual arrogant grin replaced by grim wariness.

He edged closer to Jaune. "This is too easy," he whispered, as if afraid to disturb the quiet.

"I know," replied Jaune.

"This is a trap."

"I know."

"And you're just going to walk into it?"

"What other choice do we have? Salem knows we're here. For now, we have to play by her rules."

Cardin's lip twisted downwards. Jaune couldn't blame him. He didn't like this any more than Cardin did, but there was no way their arrival hadn't been noticed by Salem or whatever sentries she had. She might have even been connected to the Griffons that attacked them, making stealth useless. They had to simply see where this road took them.

"Cardin," whispered Jaune. "If this _is_ a trap, and we get attacked, I want you to take the others and break out. I'll keep whatever attacks us distracted until you're all safe."

Cardin stared at Jaune. Not even a day ago, Cardin would have scorned Jaune's foolhardy selflessness as the ramblings of a self-righteous child living a fairy-tale inside his head. Now though, he simply shook his head. "You really care about them," he said.

"I do," answered Jaune, though he knew it wasn't really a question.

Cardin was quiet for a moment, before he grunted, "You must have really hated me when I took your section away from you."

"I don't hate you Cardin."

"Why?" Cardin demanded. Jaune glanced at him, shocked to find him looking… angry. As if Jaune's indifference actually frustrated him. "I bullied you ever since you joined Beacon. I made you hurt your friends. I got you kicked out of your dream. You should despise me. How can you not?"

Jaune didn't answer immediately. Cardin's outburst stunned him, but more than that he wasn't entirely sure of the answer himself. Jaune should have hated Cardin for what he'd done to him. Maybe there had been a time when he had. But now…

Now he just didn't… care. No, that wasn't quite right. It did bother him that Cardin had bullied him. But after being forced to lead his section, watching friends die, seeing first-hand what war did to people, and staring down death more times than he could possibly keep track of… now everything that had happened before just felt so petty. So meaningless. Jaune Arc had seen entire villages razed to the ground and all their inhabitants incinerated. What was a petty grudge in the face of all that?

Cardin was racist, aggressive, and vindictive. But Jaune had seen true evil. And Cardin wasn't that. So what was the point of hating him when there were so many things that actually warranted his loathing.

"I don't hate you, Cardin, because what's the point? You're not my enemy. If we start turning on each other, we lose sight of the real enemy. If we do that, Salem's already won."

Cardin digested Jaune's words, going quiet for a while. Jaune continued to edge further down the hallway, getting closer and closer to the double doors at the end of the room. "God, you're insufferable," Cardin muttered. Jaune blinked. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be around you?" Cardin continued. "Every single minute you show everyone else up. Every second remind us all how much of a better human-being you are, just by being you. It's infuriating."

"You… you think I'm a better person?"

"It's like this holier-than-thou complex, but you genuinely don't even intend it to be that way, do you? You just go about your life, doing whatever heroic idea comes to mind first."

"I'm not a hero, Cardin."

"That's exactly what a hero would say."

Jaune huffed a laugh. Maybe Cardin was right on that one. "You could be a hero too, you know."

Cardin became very quiet. "No I can't," he grumbled. "I'm not one of the good guys, like you. I'm too angry, all the bloody time. I'm no hero."

"It's never too late to choose to change, Cardin," Jaune said. "'Hero' isn't a cloak you wear. It's not a badge or a rank slide or even a title. It's a choice. It's waking up every day and choosing to be better than you were before. That's what makes a hero. Not what he was. But the change he made to be what he is now." It was a lesson Jaune had fought and bled and killed to finally learn.

Sometimes, change was a decision you made one day. Sometimes your scenario compelled you to. But there was always a choice. Always a moment where you chose to be something more. Jaune had left Beacon with zero self-confidence, feeling feeble, weak and unwanted. Worse, he'd been self-obsessed, constantly thinking of what would make _him_ a hero, what _he_ would do as a Huntsman. But when Sergeant Cole had handed him that bloodied rank slide, he'd chosen to change, to become the leader his section needed: one who put their team first. Not the person he'd been. The only alternative to that had been to die, and Jaune hadn't been ready for that yet.

Cardin opened his mouth to say something in reply when a noise suddenly caused both men to spin around, hearts leaping into their throats. The silence that had pervaded and harrowed the band of humans was shattered by a bone-grating snigger. Immediately every rifle to hand was pointed towards the shadowy rafters of the foyer where the sound had emanated from.

A second giggle echoed through the room, this one coming from a completely different part of the ceiling. Jaune gripped Crocea Mors tightly, his teeth grating against each other as the laugh rang through the room a third time.

"Show yourself!" Cardin bellowed.

"Show yourself!" the voice mocked, before bursting into cackling all over again. The sound echoed off the walls, seemingly coming from all directions, wracking the humans with wave after wave of deranged laughter. Beta section instinctively huddled against each other, back-to-back, forming a ring of bodies watching every direction.

"Who are you?" Jaune shouted. His voice sounded weak and reedy to his ears, especially when he heard it echoing back at him.

"Who am I?" the voice asked. A snicker. "Where are my manners? I haven't even introduced myself."

A figure dropped out of the rafters, slamming into the ground in a crouch, cracking the floor underneath. Four rifles spun to track the stranger without hesitation, but the man didn't so much as blink. Instead he extended to his full height and bowed dramatically.

"Tyrian Callows, at your service."

Tyrian was short, wearing an open white shirt which revealed a scarred chest, with black buckles crisscrossing his torso. A series of bandages snaked up his arms, his white trousers tucked into knee-length, black boots, and he wore his hair in a French plait. On his wrists were his weapons, two curved blades that extended over either side of his forearm, and behind him was…

Jaune's breath caught in his throat. Behind him was a black scorpion tail.

"You are a Faunus," realised Aiden.

"Guilty as charged," giggled Tyrian. Despite the fact that it was only one man, Jaune didn't lower his guard for even a second. The scars on his chest proved that Tyrian was no stranger to fighting, and the look in his yellow eyes was just on the wrong side of crazy. This man had to be one of Salem's minions, and that made him dangerous.

"Why are you here?" Jaune asked in what he hoped was a steady voice.

"Why, to offer you a formal invitation of course," Tyrian replied. "My mistress has deemed you…" Tyrian pointed at Jaune, "…worthy of her attention. I am to escort you to her at once."

"And my section?" asked Jaune.

Tyrian looked at the others, as if seeing them for the first time, and his face took on a bored expression, dismissing them with a way of his hand. "Not invited. Looks like I'll have to kill them."

Jaune took a step in front of his section. "I won't let you do that."

Tyrian's eyes lit up hungrily, and Jaune knew he'd said the wrong thing. "Good."

Tyrian lunged for Jaune. Jaune was so startled by the sudden movement that he didn't even have time to raise his shield. In less than a heartbeat, Tyrian had closed the distance between them. Jaune only had time to widen his eyes as Tyrian's wrist blades swung for his head, prepared to slam into his temple and knock him out cold.

 _Clang!_

The sound echoed around the chamber, reverberating through Jaune's skull, crumbling any half-formed thoughts he had into dust. Beside his head, Tyrian's weapons strained to get to him, their edges shining wickedly in the red lighting. Scorpion pincers, a tiny portion of his misfunctioning brain realised; they looked like scorpion pincers.

Besides him, Cardin grunted as he held Tyrian's attack back by the staff of his mace; Jaune hadn't even been able to bring his shield up.

Cardin roared and went to backhand Tyrian, but he wasn't there anymore. He ducked Cardin's attack and dashed past him, slashing at the back of his thigh. Cardin cried out and fell to a knee. Tyrian grinned. Planting one foot on the floor, he spun a full 360 degrees and flung his foot at Cardin's face.

The paralysing shock finally wore off Jaune. He leapt in between them, blocking Tyrian's foot with his shield. He swung his sword at Tyrian's other foot, hoping to get him onto the floor, but Tyrian neatly backflipped out the way, a foot flying up and connecting with Jaune's chin along the way.

Jaune's head snapped back. Star exploded before his eyes. The next instant he found himself on his knees besides Cardin, utterly at the mercy of the psychopath in front of him. Fortunately, the others snapped into action. With Jaune and Cardin out the way, Terry fired a burst at Tyrian, but somehow, he was able to twist to the side in time, throwing up his wrists to block the shots. Aiden sighted down his scope and blasted at Tyrian's exposed foot, exploding a chunk of marble out the floor; Tyrian wasn't there anymore.

How was this man so quick?

Jaune lurched unsteadily to his feet as Tyrian charged Beta section, laughing manically. Phil met him midway, swinging his yellow weapon around like a club. It hit empty air. Tyrian was besides Phil, swiping at his chest. Miraculously, Phil managed to twist his body out the way, bringing Aeron Wasp back around and hitting Tyrian's wrists, knocking his weapons out the way. Tyrian simply went with the motion, pirouetting in a way that had a kick throwing Phil aside like he was nothing.

Three more bursts of full auto fire flew at Tyrian, all of which he blocked easily. He looked like he was actually enjoying the fight, his eyes wide in delight, mouth open in uproarious laughter, as if getting shot at was the funniest thing on Remnant. He wrists clicked, and Jaune's stomach clenched angrily at the sound. That couldn't be good.

The next instant a torrent of bullets whizzed at Beta section, sending them diving for cover. Shards of rock flew up as Tyrian's shots erupted against the ground, peppering the battlefield with tiny daggers. His cackles rang over the gunfire, the demented melody accompanying the destruction he wrought as he laid waste to Jaune's section.

Jaune felt a presence at his side. Cardin. "You go high, I'll go low." For once, Cardin didn't argue with him.

The two men rushed Tyrian's blindside. Surely he wouldn't be able to take on two attackers at once?

Jaune should have known better than to hope.

Somehow, Tyrian heard them over the cacophony of bullets and laughter. He swung his head to them, like a praying mantis spotting its next meal. Cardin swung for his head. Jaune for his legs. Tyrian blocked both, his arms as immovable as mountains as his two attackers strained against him. Jaune bashed Tyrian in the face with his shield, realising Tyrian wouldn't be able to block such a close attack with his hands tied up. Jaune swore he actually heard a grunt of pain from the hit, but then he saw his face again and cursed.

Tyrian was seething, his eyes pinpricks of hateful yellow. A swift kick to the face had Cardin collapsing backwards, whilst the scorpion's tail rounded on Jaune. It snaked around his leg, yanking Jaune's support out from under him. He smashed his head directly onto the floor, biting his tongue. The coppery tang of blood flooded his mouth.

 _Don't stop_. The thought had Jaune rolling to the side just as the stinger came down for a second strike, cracking the floor where Jaune had been and imbedding there, a monument for what might have been Jaune's corpse had he moved even a split-second later. Jaune came out of his roll and pushed himself into a kneeling position, his hands feeling something sharp. He glanced down, seeing that he was lying on the marble shrapnel Tyrian had shot out of the floor, the tiny shards of rock glinting in the light like a shattered mirror. An idea blossomed in Jaune's head.

Phil took that moment to throw himself back into the fight, firing on Tyrian to cover his approach at the same time that Naomi, Terry and Aiden spotted an opening, blasting the pinned Tyrian before he could free his tail. Yet even with his stinger stuck in the floor, Tyrian was too skilled for them. He blocked Phil's attack, then grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him over an outstretched foot, throwing him off balance. He would have slammed into the ground, except that Tyrian pulled him upright, in between himself and the humans trying to fire at him.

With Phil in the way, Beta section had no choice but to abandon their attack, scrambling back into cover as Tyrian opened fire on them once more.

Jaune gritted his teeth. Even one lucky shot from Tyrian on one of his friends would spell the end of them; without aura, they were little more than glass soldiers trying to put a dent in a tank.

Jaune's shield hand curled into fists, collecting as many shards of masonry as he could. He could feel them biting into his fingers, salivating for blood. Good.

Jaune made eye contact with Cardin, dragging himself to his feet. Cardin saw the rock fragments he had, nodding his understanding. Either Cardin had guessed what Jaune was doing, or he was about to improvise.

Tyrian hurled Phil towards the rest of Beta section, sending him sprawling, then threw back his head and howled with laughter. That was when Jaune moved.

He lunged upwards, slashing Crocea Mors at Tyrian's neck whilst his shield flew forwards, aiming for the scorpion Faunus' nose. A feint. Tyrian easily caught Jaune's sword on his armoured tail, whilst he yanked Jaune's shield out the way with his hands. As Jaune's shield rotated, revealing his clenched fist behind it, he opened his hand, hurling the shards of rock he'd held there. They rocketed into Tyrian's face, connecting with his exposed eyes. Tyrian cried out in pain and fury, fingers clawing at his face. Blocking his eyes.

Cardin took his chance, winding back his mace like a batter, dragging his club to the apex of its swing. There was a single moment of stillness that stretched on infinitely, and Jaune could swear the world was holding its breath, transfixed by the mace that hovered over Cardin's shoulder and the immense power it stored, like a nuclear-powered spring. The sounds of battle seemed to silence then, though Jaune knew that couldn't be true, the very air thrumming with anticipation as Cardin's eyes narrowed on his target, Tyrian still scrambling to clear his eyes of the rubble Jaune had thrown into them.

Then Cardin launched it at Tyrian's face and the world split apart with a bone-reverberating _crack_! The hundred-plus pounds of cast iron pounded into Tyrian's face with the force of a train. Tyrian went flying, his tail tearing out of the floor, his limp body hurling into the wall behind him. The stone shattered where he hit, a large section of the wall simply _disintegrating_ from the impact. Say what you wanted about Cardin, but he could _hit_.

Jaune scrambled back to his section, checking the others for injuries. None so far, thank goodness. Cardin joined them, and not a second later, Tyrian punched his way free of the mound of rubble he'd created in his encounter with the wall. He emerged in all his dreadful glory, blades glinting, eyes flashing purple, stinger spitting venom at their feet.

"Playtime's over," he spat.

Jaune had no doubt he meant it, watching as his stinger snapped back and forth, wriggling in anticipation. Jaune had once read somewhere that scorpion's tails had a mind of their own; if that were the case, then Tyrian and his tail were in complete agreement at this present moment. They had to die. All of them.

They couldn't win this. Tyrian had danced around all six of them, and only a dirty trick had allowed them to get any significant hit on him. Jaune doubted he'd fall for that twice. He was just too fast, too strong. It didn't make any sense, but here was a being who mixed strength and speed perfectly, intertwining them together without ever sacrificing one or the other. The perfect predator. The perfect murderer.

If they kept going like this, he'd kill Jaune's section. One by one if he had to. Jaune couldn't let that happen. Salem had told Tyrian to bring Jaune in alive. He had to believe that. That meant he had a chance, however tiny, of surviving this. That meant he was the only one who held any sort of advantage over Tyrian.

"Cardin," whispered Jaune, his eyes still glued to Tyrian, "the plan." Cardin didn't move besides him. Jaune glanced at him. "Cardin, follow the plan. Take the others and run."

Still Cardin didn't budge. He seemed to be deep in thought, some unseen argument raging within his head. Then he stepped in front of him. Of everyone. "I outrank you, Arc, I give the orders," he growled. "Now get out of here."

What?

"Cardin, what are you doin—?"

"As your senior officer, I order you to take the section and kill Salem," he barked. "I'll keep this jokester busy."

"Jokester?" Tyrian hissed.

"Cardin, you can't beat him," Jaune pleaded.

"I know," he replied. "But neither can you. Salem's the real threat. Kill her, and we can end this bloody war."

"But he wants me alive, Cardin. I'm the only one who stands a chance of surviving this."

"He wants you alive, so Salem can kill you herself," Cardin dismissed. "Besides, you're a terrible fighter. I'll at least last longer than you against him."

"You'll die."

"That's war."

"What's this now?" asked Tyrian, eyes flaring up with twisted glee. "The noble sacrifice? The hero's last stand? Oh, how fun!"

Jaune glanced back at Cardin. "Cardin, I won't let you do thi—"

"Don't you _dare_ take this away from me." Jaune's eyes widened in shock. Cardin hadn't been loud, but the sheer level of emotion behind his tone was enough to make him take a step backwards. "You've been a selfless idiot for god knows how long. Well now it's my turn. I chose to do this, and there isn't a damn thing you can do to stop me, so don't you even try." Then his voice softened, and his eyes flicked to Jaune's. "Please, let me do this."

Let him do this? Cardin was asking Jaune to let him die. To leave him at the mercy of a clinical psychopath. Why would Cardin do that? Why would he be so willing to throw his life away when he'd been so cynical of Jaune's selflessness earlier. Maybe it didn't have anything to do with Jaune. Maybe…

Maybe it was because this was something Cardin felt he needed to do for himself. To prove to himself that he could do it. That somewhere, buried deep within him, there was a good guy. Maybe, just maybe, Cardin wanted to see what it was like to be a hero.

Jaune didn't fully understand Cardin's motivation, but he'd made it clear he wanted Jaune's blessing, not his permission. And Jaune, despite how much it tore him apart to do so, gave it with a solemn nod.

"On my mark," Cardin hissed. He raised his mace and bellowed a war cry, barrelling towards Tyrian. The mad scorpion simply laughed in delight. Cardin thrust his mace forward, but that was only a feint. Just as Tyrian dodged to the side, Cardin charged him, plunging his shoulder into Tyrian's chest and taking him out in a tackle. The two men collided with the floor, both scrambling to bring their weapons up first. "Mark!" screamed Cardin.

"Go, go, go!" yelled Jaune, rushing past Tyrian and to the doors beyond.

"Where do you think you're going?" laughed Tyrian. He planted a foot in Cardin's face, using it as a push board to slip out from under him. He flipped to his feet and his tail arched back, stinger oozing venom. But just as he was about to launch it at Jaune, Cardin's massive fist came up and latched onto it. Tyrian hissed in fury, becoming a wild animal as he swiped at Cardin's face with his blades. Cardin grunted but refused to release Tyrian's tail, sacrificing his pain and pride to keep Tyrian pinned to him. He manhandled the scorpion Faunus out of Jaune's path, using his superior weight as a pivot. Jaune thudded past, his section hot on his heels. Cardin was buying them a window to escape. Jaune wouldn't waste it.

He flew past the two struggling combatants, head down and feet slapping against the smooth floor. He slammed into the doors just as Terry did, and together they heaved the massive slabs of wood apart. Naomi, Phil and Aiden rushed past them, Terry following them a moment later. Jaune took one more moment to throw a last, furtive glance back. Tyrian had freed his tail from Cardin's grasp, hissing and spitting as he attacked in a flurry of blows. Against such an opponent, Cardin wouldn't last long. Jaune had to make every second count.

He turned away at last and dove into the next room, slamming the doors shut with a resounding thud of wood on wood.

Inside, the silence was deafening. The doors muted the continuing battle outside, leaving the remaining humans to study their surroundings. They looked to be inside some sort of banquet hall, with a large table made of a dark, purply rock dominating the centre, surrounded by tall-backed ash chairs. The ceiling seemed to be held up by more of the purple dust crystals, giant, majestic pillars framing tinted-glass windows which stained the hellscape outside a vaguely rose colour. The ceiling itself boasted an intricate chandelier that looked to be part tree roots, part teardrop-shaped dust crystals. The room was dim, lit primarily by the soft glow of dozens of candles. In another scenario, it might have even looked romantic. But to Jaune, it just looked alien. Hostile.

"I was wondering when you would arrive," a voice said.

Jaune had his sword and shield up in an instant, scouring the room for the source of the voice. It didn't take long to find.

At the head of the table was a chair unlike the others, made of more of the purple crystals that seemed to be everywhere in this domain. No, it wasn't a chair, Jaune realised. It was a throne.

A throne of nightmares.

Because as the seat rotated around fully, it revealed the face that had haunted Jaune all the way across Remnant. The face of fear, of hopelessness, of a dead and desolate world. Salem's face.

Terry and Aiden gasped, and Jaune realised they'd never seen Salem before. Even he wanted to recoil at the sight of that hideously pale skin, those poisoned veins snaking across her cheeks, the pit-black eyes that seemed to swallow his soul. Even though the image of Salem had been burned into Jaune's mind ever since the dreaded day he'd intercepted her call on Watts' ship, seeing her for real, standing not ten meters away as those sick features twisted into a false approximation of a smile, Jaune wanted to turn and flee all the way back to Vale. Even if he won today, Jaune knew those burning black eyes would hunt him in his dreams until the day he died.

"Sergeant Arc," purred Salem, those unearthly eyes fixing him to the spot. "We meet at last. You have no idea how pleased I am to see you."

* * *

 **Tyrian put up a good fight, but alas, he was no match against his ultimate weakness: a hit to the face. If Qrow can do it, you bet Cardin can too. Rest in piece Tyrian's face.**

 **I think fight scenes are my new favourite thing to write, but I'm always open to any critisim or pointers on how to do it better. If anyone's decent at writing fight scenes, I would love it if you could tell me how I'm doing, or what I could be doing to make them better. Even if you're not good at writing fights, just some general feedback on the feel of my fights (do they flow, are they exciting, is it easy to follow etc) would be much appreciated.**

 **Anyway, I'll see all y'all in two weeks.**


	27. Chapter 27 - Last Stand

**Bugger me, long ass chapter ahead. You know, you don't realise just how many villains RWBY has until you try to kill them all. It's a bloody nightmare. Anyway, enjoy.**

* * *

" _The enemy is at the gate. It is a question of life and death"_

 _Andrei Zhdanov_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Seven—Last Stand**

The bullhead ride back to Beacon was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences Pyrrha had ever had. The pilot had taken their orders to get them back to the school asap to the letter, throwing the bullhead into a soaring race for the growing spires in the distance. But the lurching sensation in her gut was only part of the problem. Their destination loomed large in Pyrrha's mind as well as in the cockpit windows.

Somewhere out there, was Cinder. The woman who had started the whole Breach, who had fought Pyrrha almost to her death. The raw skin on her back, freshly heal thanks to her aura, was a testament to that. The thought of facing that monster a second time was almost enough to bring Pyrrha's empty stomach to her mouth. She'd thrown everything she had at Cinder, and it still hadn't been enough. Now she was going to be facing her again with barely enough aura to heal a papercut. The realisation of that sat stewing in Pyrrha's stomach like a poisoned broth.

A hand came to rest on her knee. "It will be alright," Ren assured her, immediately picking up on her apprehensions. "We will not let her hurt you."

"Yeah," agreed Nora, "we'll keep that witch off of you."

Pyrrha smiled tightly, noting with a certain irony the fact that she of all people needed protecting, yet thankful for their presence nonetheless. They didn't have that much more aura than her, but fighting with her team felt right. They would look after each other. They had each other's backs.

The pilot's voice crackled over the intercom. "We'll be coming in to Beacon soon. Kit up."

Pyrrha gripped her weapons, and Ren and Nora did the same. "When we land, we'll engage Cinder first," Ren told her. "Hang back unless we're in trouble." Pyrrha felt a pang in her stomach at that, but she nodded her agreement. It was a solid plan. Her aura was too low to allow her to safely engage Cinder directly, and she could still do some damage from afar with ranged attacks. She just couldn't shake the feeling that she was being benched, and after everything she'd been through, that didn't feel right.

"We're coming in hot," the pilot informed them. "I won't be able to land. You'll have to jump." Ren replied his confirmation, and a moment later the side door of the bullhead hissed open. Wind tore at the newly-formed breach, screaming into the cargo bay and yanking at Pyrrha's hair and clothing. The gap widened, orange light streaming in from the outside. Initially, Pyrrha assumed the light was coming from the sun, but then the door opened fully, and Pyrrha's gasp was torn away from her by the howling wind.

There, standing on the quad of Beacon, engaged in a full-on war, were two lone figures. One held a cane, the weapon little more than a toothpick from this distance. White hair glimmered in the orange light, confirming that this was Ozpin. Floating before him, the source of an illumination brighter than the sun itself, was a blazing phoenix.

Cinder.

She hovered above the ground, bathed in fire, so bright Pyrrha could barely see her, a burning goddess brandishing two swords of magma. Ozpin faced against her, all alone, the only shield between Cinder and the school. Pyrrha's home.

When Pyrrha looked away, Cinder continued to blaze before her eyes, the afterimage burnt into her retinas. But more than that, she blazed in her mind. Cinder, the woman who had tried to destroy everything she'd ever loved, who had come to reduce the city she'd come to call home to ash. Who had tried to burn her. Who had failed.

Who would now pay for that mistake.

"Go! Go! Go!" yelled the pilot. Ren and Nora leapt from the open doors, falling about ten meters to land on the ground, their aura's absorbing the impact, before rushing to their headmaster's side. Pyrrha glanced over the side of the bullhead, feeling her stomach churning. Any other day the fall would have caused no more damage than a paltry pressure on her legs, but today…

She turned back to the pilot. "Do you have any rope?" she asked tightly. The pilot glanced back, his eyes widening in surprise at finding her still there, but then he jerked his thumb over his shoulder and mumbled the whereabouts of some rope she could use.

Fifteen seconds later, Pyrrha was falling from the bullhead, albeit in a controlled descent at the end of a piece of rope. She hit the ground, knees bracing to reduce the impact, before cutting through the rope tied around her waist. The pilot was gone a moment later, bullhead screaming off before Cinder decided to make it a target.

Miló came swinging upright, clicking into rifle mode. Pyrrha sighted down the barrel, the gravity of what she was about to face weighing heavy on her shoulders.

One way or another, this ended here.

* * *

Winter wasted no further time. She turned and jogged down the passage, leaving Bea standing there, forgotten, as if she hadn't just tried to murder her. That arrogance still managed to tick Bea off, but she shoved that resentment down. Now wasn't the time for petty grudges. A quick glance out a nearby porthole proved her words all too true. Vale was closing. Fast. Bea had already lost too much time fighting Winter, and now every second took them closer towards the Atlesian airships' optimal firing range. Time was slipping away, leaving her to grasp at its granules of sand as they gradually slid between her fingers and were lost forever.

So without giving herself time to second guess asking Winter of all people to help, she scrambled after the disappearing white figure. The two women jogged down hallways and past other crew without so much as a glance in their direction, forging their way towards the bow. The stern of the dreadnought was where the docking bay was situated, complete with a number of sleek fighters. The lower decks of the middle part of the ship housed the massive engines that pulverised refined dust into granules of fuel, then blasted it out the back of the ship, to provide thrust. Bea had toyed with the idea of sabotaging the engines but had soon dismissed it. Not only would she not have a clue as to what she was doing, but the engine levels were crowded with dozens of engineers and mechanics, any number of which would have immediately identified her as having no reason to be down there. Besides, even if she scuttled one ship, Watts would simply transfer to another. She would only be delaying the attack, not preventing it. No, if she wanted to ensure the safety of Vale, she needed to take out the head of the operation.

Hence why they were travelling to the stern. That part of the dreadnought housed the bridge and, more importantly, the general's private chambers. It wouldn't do to have the general integrating with the common soldier by sleeping in the same quarters, now would it? No doubt Watts had been very coercive in ensuring he lived separate to the other crew on the ship, but that egomania might just play into Bea and Winter's hands. If Watts was isolated, it would make bringing him down all the easier. If they were lucky, they would catch him unaware, perhaps relaxing in his quarters, allowing them to quietly apprehend the general and take control of the ship. That was the plan that Bea had formed anyway. But if her years as a Huntress and then later as a military officer had taught her anything, it was one thing:

No plan survives first contact with the enemy. And today was no different.

Just as they'd rounded the last corner to Watts' personal cabin, Winter came to a jarring halt. Bea almost ran straight into her back, just about managing to skip to the side in time. As her eyes came up, she spotted Watts in his usual immaculate attire, talking to someone large and hairy next to him. It was the man who always followed Watts around. His bodyguard? Bea couldn't be sure, though the man was easily large enough to be, and the way his muscles rippled beneath his shirt told Bea he was no stranger to combat.

Both men stopped the moment the two of them came into view. Watts' eyes narrowed, taking in the un-uniformed Bea, the hostile glare Winter gave him, the air of confrontation that had crashed onto the corridor the moment the two women had rounded the corner. His eyes scrutinised the two of them, his focus landing on Bea's with enough force to almost make her back up a step. But she didn't. Instead she stared back, refusing to be cowed, to be bullied, her piercing gaze slicing into Watts' soul just as hard as his did hers.

"What is this?" he interrogated, his usually smooth voice as hard as ice.

"What did you do to me?" Winter demanded, tone equally froze. "You made me follow your orders. You forced me to help you invade Vale."

Watts laughed. Actually threw back his head and laughed out loud. Winter eyed him suspiciously, hand inching towards her cutlass. "Is that what think I did," Watts mocked, "turned you into my slave? My powers are far more subtle than such barbarity."

"You control people with your semblance," Bea accused, earning another chuckle from Watts.

"Wrong again. I don't control anyone. All I do is present to them a case they simply can't disagree with."

"Lies," growled Winter.

"Believe what you will. The only thing I do is convince people that I am right."

A hand came down on Watts' shoulder. It was the large man. "You're telling them too much," he rumbled, his voice resembling that of a bear's. "You're giving up an advantage."

"I don't care, Hazel," replied Watts. Hazel: so that was his name. "I want them to know exactly what they've done." Cruel eyes turned back to them. "I don't force anyone to do anything. I simply tell them what I want them to do. They could resist if they so pleased, but you see, humanity _wants_ to be told what to do. They want to take orders. There are so few who actually have the wills to follow their own intuitions."

"Persuasion," Bea realised, finally putting the pieces of the puzzle together. "Your semblance is persuasion."

"Bravo," Watts mock congratulated, "though it is even more sophisticated than that. I merely plant a thought in a person's mind, the first hatchling of an idea. Then, even when I'm not in contact with them, that thought continues to worm its way into their mind, combining with their own thoughts, until they come to the same conclusion I wanted them to, all on their own. I don't force anyone to do anything. Everything that you have done, all the crimes you so desperately want to blame on me, deep down, you wanted to do them. You are as much a villain as I am, and you know it."

Bea took a step back, Watts' words hitting her harder than any blow possibly could. She understood Watts' power now: it was like hypnotism, putting the seeds of ideas into her mind and then allowing them to grow within her, developing into her own thoughts. But hypnotism could never force you to do something you would never do; it couldn't make you break your own morals. That meant that everything Bea had done whilst under Watts influence, all the times she'd stood by and done nothing as she'd watched people die, that was all on her. Maybe Watts had pushed her aside whilst he went for the gun, but she still stood and watched as he used it.

Besides her, Winter didn't look to be taking the news any better. Her pale complexion was ghostly, her mouth a pencil stroke on her face. Bea could imagine why. Every time she left the Schnee manor, she'd be surrounded by people who hated the Schnee name, who called her father a murderer, a thief, a bad man. All that time she must have fought to silence the doubts within her, that gnawing fear that maybe, just maybe, a part of her father lay within her too. And now Watts was forcing her to confront that part, revealing the festering cancer inside her. Winter was many things, lots of them unpleasant, but Bea didn't think her a bad person, not truly. She wanted to comfort Winter, tell her that the bad in her was only one side, only one tiny aspect of her soul that Watts had laid bare, and that that didn't have to be all that she was.

But when Bea opened her mouth to offer those words of comfort, she felt like a fraud. She was no better than Winter. Maybe she was worse. At least Winter could blame that dark side of her on her upbringing, on the toxic family she'd been born into. But Bea… she'd been raised with love, surrounded by good examples. Yet she'd still forced Ralph, her own partner, away from her. She'd still left her twin brother behind for a fancy job in Atlas, falling out of contact with him for over two years. That dark side of her was her own doing, her own selfish ambitions and desires. How could she possibly reconcile with that?

Surprisingly, it was Winter who provided the answer.

"I've done some things I'm ashamed of," she admitted, "but the very fact I feel ashamed of them is what separates me from you. I regret the bad I've done; you relish in it. And I'm going to put right the wrongs I've made." She fell into a battle stance, sabre shrinking out of its scabbard in one smooth motion. "I'm better than you." Winter's eyes flicked towards Bea, and maybe, for just a single moment, they softened. "We both are."

Bea was too stunned to reply, too dumbfounded to even utter any thanks. She knew it wasn't needed anyway. So instead she simply reached behind her back and pulled off the cylinder resting there. She twisted it down the middle, and the two halves came away. From one would extend her electrified sword; from the other, her whip. Bea put the whip back behind her back. It wouldn't be much use in the narrow confines of the ship's bowels, and she could engage with her sword just fine on its own.

Watts scoffed as he saw the two of them ready their weapons, but the man besides him, Hazel, seemed to take the threat seriously. "Walk away," he warned. "This doesn't have to end with your deaths."

"Actually, it does," countered Watts. "They've tried to depose me of my rightful claim to the Atlesian military. For their pitiful coup, I sentence them both to death." Watts' hands slipped into the pockets of his waistcoat. "It would be my pleasure to be their executioner." Hazel growled in displeasure, but otherwise didn't refute Watts.

Bea crouched into a fencer's stance besides Winter, eying their opponents. One big, but probably slow, easily countered by someone faster; the other an anomaly, but judging by his personality, someone who would rather outwit than outcompete their adversary. That would require someone with a more level-head.

She leaned over to Winter. "You take the one on the left, I'll take the one on th—"

 _Zoom!_

Wind tore at Bea's clothing as Winter rocketed towards Hazel, an acceleration glyph flaring beneath her. She lunged for Hazel in what should have been an unmatchable feat of speed and skill, but somehow, using more agility than Bea had assumed was humanly possible for someone of that size, Hazel sidestepped out the way, missing the tip of Winter's blade by a hair's-breadth. If Winter was surprised by Hazel's speed, she didn't show it, sweeping her arm back across and jabbing for him again. Hazel dodged again, staying ahead of the blade by less than an inch each time, backing away down a corridor perpendicular to theirs.

Bea cursed and charged after her, weapon extending before her, arcs of blue electricity jumping to life across the foil-like blade. Watts only smiled.

Bea struck for Watts' midriff, arm jerking forward to impale him before he could bring his guard up. Watts merely took his hands out of his pockets, now wearing a pair of gloves.

And caught the blade in one hand.

* * *

Yang growled in frustration as a foot cut her off yet again from her sister. She blasted it out the way, only for Mercury to use the added momentum to spin around and send it crashing into her back. She hit the floor, angry tears blurring her vision. Her sister needed her. Ruby needed her.

She rolled to the side as Mercury axe-kicked the position she'd just occupied. She managed to get her knees underneath her, but Mercury was relentless, his legs becoming two blurs of molten silver as they swung and fell and pounded into her. Yang threw up block after block, trying to fight her way back to her feet, but the sheer intensity of Mercury's attacks kept her pinned to the ground.

With a roar, Yang blasted her gauntlets at the ground, propelling her upwards into Mercury. She made to tackle him around the waist, fully intending to wrestle him to the ground and then pummel him into oblivion, but at the last second he lifted his leg, planting it between himself and Yang. Directly in her face.

The shot was deafening, the pain instantaneous. Bits of buck rocketed into her cheek, whipping her head back and reversing her motion. She was sent sprawling straight back into the dirt, hard concrete slamming into her cheek. She grounded from the heap she lay in.

"Not gonna lie, blondie," smirked Mercury. Yang lifted her head to watch him. "I expected a helluva lot more from you. Oh well." Mercury raised his leg, preparing to stomp her face through the floor. Yang gritted her teeth, muscles screaming as she tensed, ready to throw herself out the way. Mercury's foot reached the height of its rise, an arrogant smirk splitting his face.

When a ribbon wrapped itself around his other leg and dragged it out from under him. Mercury cried out in shock, suddenly finding himself plummeting towards the ground, his support snatched out from under him.

Straight towards Yang.

"Oh shi—!"

Yang exploded upwards, fist tearing up the distance between them. There was single moment of contact as fist hit flesh, an instant of satisfaction as Mercury's face morphed into playdough, before physics caught up and the air was rent with a wet _crack_! Mercury went flying, his body dragged after his head as he lifted clean into the air, before gravity claimed its prize and he smacked into the ground.

Yang pushed herself to her feet. "I had that under control," she mumbled.

"Looked like it," replied Blake dryly, pulling Gambol Shroud back to her hand. "No doubt getting your face pummelled was also part of your brilliant strategy?"

"We need to get to Ruby," Yang said, ignoring Blake's last snipe.

"Don't worry, we've got her covered," Blake assured her.

"Qrow?"

"Even better. Besides, it looks like you didn't hit him hard enough." She indicated Mercury, now struggling back to his feet, holding a hand to his head and spitting obscenities. "Care to fix that?"

Yang's eyes met her partner's, and a smile that would have made a Berserker drop his axe and cower in fear split her face. "It would be my pleasure."

* * *

Ruby spun her scythe before her, knocking back the hooks that shot for her chest. They collided with a clang of metal on metal, before snaking back towards Emerald like chided dogs.

Ruby gaped at her green-haired opponent. "Why are you doing this? Don't you care about all these people you're going to hurt?"

"All I care about is Cinder," Emerald replied. "Nothing else matters to me."

"What a pitiful excuse for genocide," chided a familiar voice. Ruby's heart leapt as a white-haired figure appeared beside her. "Trust you to need saving," she muttered.

"What about the Breach?" Ruby asked.

"Coco is managing it. Beacon is slowly, but quite surely plugging it." That made Ruby's heart flutter in relief. She'd been so sure for a time that they were doing the impossible, but now it looked like they were going to pull through. Weiss now raised her voice so Emerald could hear. "You've lost. The Breach has failed, and Cinder has abandoned you. If you give yourself up, I promise you'll receive a fair trial."

"We don't want to hurt you," added Ruby.

"You're wrong!" shouted Emerald. "Cinder will be back. She'll save me, just like she did before."

Weiss sighed. "Then you've brought this fate upon yourself." She turned to Ruby. "Care to help me with this one?"

"Tag-team! Yeah!"

"We are _not_ calling it that."

Ruby grinned to herself as she and Weiss readied their weapons. They were totally tag-teaming.

* * *

Bea's eyes widened, staring at the fist gripping her blade. Trails of blue electricity jumped from Bea's weapon to Watts' hand, but they didn't electrocute him. Instead, they seemed to skip and jump over the fabric of the glove, playing with the white arcs that Watts' own glove produced.

Watts inspected the weapon in his grip. "What a pretty toy." Then he slapped her in the face with his free hand. Electricity jarred through her from the point of contact, amplifying the blow tenfold. Bea took the hit full on the face, head snapping around. She sprawled over the floor, slamming her head against the hard metal panelling of the ground. She gingerly touched her cheek, feeling only numb skin. "But whilst you are merely playing at scientist, I am the real thing. My weapons are decades more sophisticated than yours."

Bea spun onto her back, scrambling away from Watts, but he didn't make to follow up on his attack. Instead he merely watched her disdainfully, as one would a bug with enough aspiration to try to climb his leg. In his hands, the gloves crackled with electricity, as if hungry for more. Her eyes darted over them as she got back to her feet, trying to discern what the hell they were. She'd never seen anything like them. Probably because Watts had built them himself, if his gloating was anything to go on.

Each glove was crisscrossed with a series of wires that connected to a small, humming box strapped to Watts' wrist. Dotting the gloves in multiple places were little diodes, from which arcs of electricity sprang into existence; but whereas Bea's produced soft, blue lightning, the colour of warm skies, Watts' was a harsh, spotless white, the colour of interrogation rooms and military uniforms. In a way, his weapon wasn't so dissimilar to her own, except instead of charging a blade, he'd charged a set of gloves.

That meant she couldn't let him touch her. Fine then: she'd just keep him at a distance.

Bea launched herself back into an attack, sword chopping for his head. Watts raised his hand, and just as he was about to grab her weapon, she pulled back a half step, then lunged forward. Her blade skimmed past Watts' reaching hand, then shot towards his chest. His second hand came around and knocked it out the way, then he stepped forward, reaching for Bea's face.

Bea dodged back, putting her weapon between them to give her time to recover. Watts merely slapped it aside, then thundered towards her, hands crackling. Bea's eyes widened. She stumbled back, trying to bring her weapon back around, but Watts was too close. It bit at his shoulder, earning a grunt of pain from him, but not enough to stop his attack. He slammed his palms into her chest, throwing her against a wall and pinning her there. Pain erupted across her torso. She screamed. Watts' grin was pure malignance.

Bea gripped Watts' wrists, trying to pry his hands away. He was too strong. She reached up to his torso, slapping her fists against him, but she'd never had much physical strength. He ignored her pitiful beating, continuing to apply pressure to her chest, ramping up the pain to another level.

She gritted her teeth, feeling her muscles spasming as electricity coursed through her nerves. Any more of this and her heart would simply stop. To a normal person, that should have already happened. Only her aura working overtime to dissipate the current was keeping her alive. But it wouldn't last forever. Watts was going to electrocute her to death.

That left her one option.

She didn't like it. It drained too much of her aura, but she was out of ideas by this stage. So Bea dug down inside herself, burrowing deep into that well of power within her that she privately thought was her soul, and activated her semblance.

Tingling began in her finger tips, like pins and needles. Her hair stood up on end, but that had nothing to do with Watts' attack. The air thrummed in anticipation, tasting of ozone as she charged up the power within her. Watts' leering face turned to one of confusion, suspicion. He reached up with one hand, perhaps hoping to knock her out with a shock to her head, but it was too late. Bea took a deep breath.

And a blue lightning bolt erupted from her chest.

Watts didn't even have time to widen his eyes. From so close it was like getting hit with an electrified sledgehammer. The stream of ionised air slammed into his torso, lifting him clean off the ground and hurling him away. His body slammed into the opposite wall of the corridor, and he slid to the floor, dazed.

Bea's semblance: potential difference induction. Or throwing lightning bolts, as Phil had liked to call it. For reasons she still didn't fully grasp, she was able to spend some of her aura to create a large enough voltage for a spark to jump from her to a nearby source. She could vaguely direct it, but it got less accurate the further away her target, making it a good thing Watts had been so close. She didn't like to rely on it though; it was too much of a clutch, and it ate through her aura faster than most other semblances did. Though given the circumstances, she felt she could be forgiven for it this once.

Watts growled from the heap he lay in on the floor, pushing a gloved hand against the metal floor to push himself up to his full height. But that wasn't what caught Bea's eyes. What did, was the way the glove sparked as it came into contact with the metal, the arcs of electricity flaring for a moment before disappearing completely. Watts saw her gaze, following it down to his right glove and the suspicious lack of sparks there.

He had discharged it.

Too late Watts realised his mistake. Bea was already upon him, hacking for his throat. Watts blocked it with his left hand, but wasn't prepared for the kick that followed, slamming into his chest and propelling him back into a wall.

Bea followed, refusing to allow him even a moment to recover. Any moment his glove might come back on, and she'd lose her advantage. Watts ducked her next attack, trying to slip past her, but a well-placed boot from Bea forced him back into his corner. Watts reached for her face, electrified glove spitting sparks, but Bea was faster. Her left hand latched onto his wrist, pulling it out the way as her sword came thundering down. Watts, left arm pinned by Bea and with his back against the wall, had nowhere to run. He threw up his free arm, blocking the strike for his head with his forearm, but his aura paid dearly for the move.

Bea continued to move, jerking the wrist she held to her left, dragging an unwilling Watts after it, just as she drove her elbow into his stomach. Watts' breath exploded out of him in a great rush, eyes bulging as Bea pulled back and flicked her blade at his face. He just about manged to jerk his head out the way, the weapon coming close enough to fry his immaculate moustache.

Tired of being beaten upon, Watts sent a punch at her face with his discharged hand. Bea blocked it with a forearm, smiling grimly to herself. She was winning. Watts wasn't a fighter; he was a planner. A thinker. He gave the orders whilst others did his bidding. His position had made him complacent, and now Bea was punishing him for it.

Watts pulled back his fist again, about to throw another ineffective punch. Bea had had a brawler for a partner—she could take a punch. Watts' fist reached the apex of its swing. The little black box on his wrist hummed in anticipation.

The glove crackled back to life.

Damnit.

The punch was as feeble as the last, but that was hardly an issue as several thousand volts shot through her body from the point of contact. Now it was Bea's turn to go flying, colliding with the unyielding ground and rolling across the floor for a few feet. She put an unsteady hand underneath her, dragging her aching body back up. This fight was taking a beating on her aura. She was down to about a third. Those gloves of his just did too much damage. She needed to find a way to permanently take them out of the equation. It was time to test a few theories she had about them.

* * *

Pyrrha glanced down the length of her rifle. Even if she couldn't fight Cinder head on, that didn't mean she couldn't help. Her sights came to rest on Cinder's glowing form, finger pressing down on the trigger, but just then Ren and Nora came into view, halting Pyrrha's attack.

Nora came in first, barrelling towards Cinder, hammer held high. Ren followed closely, blades glinting green in the firelight as he rushed her. Despite the distance, Pyrrha swore she could see Cinder smile.

Nora spun in a circle, hammer whistling through the air, racing towards Cinder's side. Cinder merely floated backwards, the hammer blundering past her by an inch. Ren was in there before Nora had even finished her swing, darting to Cinder's side. She swiped for his head with her sword, forcing Ren to slide underneath it. He came up, slashing for her leg at the same time Nora lifted her hammer and jabbed it towards Cinder's stomach. For a moment, it looked like they had her trapped, checkmated between the two of them.

But then Cinder ignited a fireball beneath her, shooting upwards on a jet of flame. Nora's hands were dragged into the fire after her hammer, flames engulfing her wrists. She pulled back, cursing, and Ren rushed to her side, dragging her clear.

Cinder wasn't done. She now came down, a shooting star blazing for Ren and Nora. Ren spotted her, mouth opening to yell something, but it was Nora who shoved them apart, the force of her push sending them both sprawling to either side. An instant later, a meteor collided with the ground, blasting a crater in the asphalt. Cinder rose to her full height as twin jets of blue fire shot her from hands, aimed at Ren and Nora.

Pyrrha's heart jerked in her chest as they scrambled out of the way, the flames chasing them as they struggled to put distance between them. Pyrrha's finger tightened on the trigger, determined to distract Cinder, but in the end, it wasn't necessary. A green figure leapt into the fight, cane swinging overhead for Cinder. She threw up a hand, sword reforming in her grip just in time to block the headmaster's attack.

Ozpin didn't give her time to retaliate. He slid his grip up the cane to about halfway, then reversed its rotation and slammed the handle into Cinder's face. She stumbled, and in that moment Ozpin's weapon swept for her legs. They would have taken them out, had Cinder not ignited a flame beneath them, shooting herself backwards and out of reach.

Ren and Nora struggled to their feet, and Pyrrha could see Ozpin shouting something to them, though she was too far away to hear what. The next second a hailstorm of glass shot towards the three of them. Pyrrha's breath caught in her throat as the tiny daggers speared for her friends.

Once more, it was Ozpin who saved them. He shouted something, and the two of them ducked behind him. The shards of glass raced towards him, but Ozpin merely stood there, as impassive as a mountain. The first shards came within arm's reach of Ozpin, before inexplicably disintegrating. More knives flew towards him, but each and every one of them fell to dust as they reached him.

It was only then that Pyrrha noticed the glass wasn't breaking apart on Ozpin; it was being destroyed. Ozpin was moving so fast that Pyrrha hadn't even noticed at first, his arms blurring into indistinct flashes of green, but there could be no mistaking it; Ozpin was hitting each and every fragment out of the air.

The barrage finally ended. Pyrrha stared at her headmaster, as did Ren and Nora, all three of them dumbfounded by the headmaster's feat. Just how skilled was he?

Ozpin said something to Ren and Nora that had Ren opening his mouth, as if to argue, but Ozpin cut him off again. Begrudgingly, Ren and Nora lowered their weapons and took a step back. Ozpin was telling them to stand down, Pyrrha realised with a jolt. Perhaps he didn't want them to get hurt. Perhaps he knew he didn't need them.

Either way, Ozpin didn't waste another second with them. He shot towards Cinder with a speed that would have matched Ruby's, cane whistling through the air. Hardened wood met burning daggers. Ozpin moved again, the sheer ferocity of his attacks throwing Cinder into retreat. They blazed back and forth, almost too fast for Pyrrha to keep up with. It was incredible. It was terrifying. Ozpin moved like a leopard, lithe and agile, yet with so much power in each attack Pyrrha could have sworn the ground quaked every time their weapons met. Blow after blow rained down on Cinder, Ozpin moving and attacking again before she ever got the chance to counter. He swung and ducked and whirled and jabbed and blocked and fought, weapon becoming a black blur in front of him.

Cinder tried to break away from him. She planted her feet against his chest and blasted backwards, using her flight ability to hover out of Ozpin's range. From there she began to rain fire down on the battlefield, launching fireballs at the headmaster from a safe distance.

Ozpin was having none of it. He knelt down, gripping his cane in two hands, then planted it into the ground. It was only because Pyrrha had been watching so closely, that she noticed the cane quicker slightly, as if releasing some sort of energy. A moment later a translucent orb, tinted green, expanded around Ozpin. Fireballs collided and washed over the shield, but nothing got through.

Ozpin paused there for a second, before launching himself off the ground, forcefield levitating him upwards towards Cinder. Cinder panicked, just as amazed as Pyrrha was that Ozpin could fly. She made the mistake of letting up on her attacks for a split second, and in that time Ozpin erupted out, orb shattering like an eggshell as he collided with Cinder, knocking her downwards.

Cinder hit hard, but still had the presence of mind to block Ozpin's follow up attack. She rolled to her feet, and the two went back at it, cane-to-sword combat. Cinder just about managed to keep up, double weapons singeing the air as they tore through it at unbelievable speeds, halting Ozpin's cane time and time again. But one thing looked clear to Pyrrha as she watched the fight, slack-jawed: Ozpin was winning. Cinder was just ever so slightly slower, just a fraction weaker. A jab managed to get through her guard, bumping her chest. It wasn't much, but blow called to blow, and not long after that another attack snuck past her weapons, and then a another, and then another.

Slowly but surely, Ozpin was draining her aura. He just had to keep doing what he was doing, just keep fighting like he was, and he would win. Pyrrha knew that. Ozpin likely did too.

Unfortunately, so did Cinder.

When Ozpin next swung for her midsection, Cinder dropped her weapons, catching the cane against her side with a crack. She grimaced but managed to pin the weapon under her arm. Ozpin immediately began to backpedal, but Cinder was quicker. She launched herself at him, hands reaching for his chest. He spun to the side, but at the last second Cinder managed to snag his sleeve.

Pyrrha cried out as fire erupted across Ozpin's arm. He didn't so much as glance at it, blocking Cinder's next fist, before following it up with an elbow to the face. Flames licked up his sleeve, burning at his face, but Ozpin stoically ignored them for the larger threat in front of him.

Infuriated by Ozpin's seemingly unfazed attitude towards being set on fire, Cinder struck for his face with a jab. Ozpin easily blocked the attack, but Pyrrha spotted Cinder's other hand creeping for his chest. She screamed a warning, but too late, for Cinder had managed to plant her palm against his torso. The hand glowed a brilliant white for a moment, before exploding energy outwards in a torrent of power.

Ozpin went flying, his cane ripping out of his hands as he was hurled away. Cinder held the cane in her hands, then brought it over her knee and snapped it in half. Ozpin soared through the air, trailing fire like a of comet. He landed and immediately began to roll, partly to soften the impact, partly to put out the flames that had been steadily consuming his suit. Cinder didn't give him the luxury of time to recover. Before he'd so much as risen to his knees, she launched a beam of fire, so intense it resembled a solar flare, directly at him. It blasted towards the still-recovering Ozpin, incinerating the distance between them.

Ozpin glanced up, saw it coming. That should have been enough. Pyrrha had seen him create a forcefield before; had seen it defend against Cinder's attacks with ease. It should have popped up, fizzing into existence and protecting Ozpin. It was exactly the same as last time. That's what should have happened.

Except for one thing: Ozpin didn't have his cane anymore. And that was not what happened.

The beam collided with Ozpin, slamming him to the ground. Pyrrha only had a split-second to see Ozpin's face—eyes closed, face… accepting—before the fire sealed him within. She screamed, the sound drowned out by the roar of the torrent of liquid fire. It washed across the quad, bathing the area in hideous, orange light. Pyrrha could only stare, her legs jelly beneath her, her stomach a gaping pit as she watched the cremation, Cinder's deranged laughter taking the place of a mournful organ.

A boom echoed across the battlefield, followed a moment later by Cinder's laughter cutting off as a grenade impacted her, blasting her away as it erupted into a fine mist. A fine _pink_ mist.

Oh no.

* * *

Watts came at her, fists swinging. She dodged left, then ducked under a hook, eyes picking out the tell-tale signs of his attacks before he even started them. Watts seemed frustrated by his inability to hit her, and he launched a blistering offensive that had Bea swerving past blurring fists, close enough to hear the crackle of static and the hum of his bracelets.

Watts lunged towards her, fist outstretched, and Bea finally saw her opening. She leapt to the side and brought her weapon blazing down in an arc of blue plasma. Watts brought up an arm to protect his face, but Bea wasn't aiming for that. Instead her sword smashed down into his overstretched fist, slapping the back of his glove. Diodes flared a brilliant white, then shattered into fragments. Watts stumbled back, glove fizzing. The diodes on his fingers and palm were still working, still spitting out arcs of electricity, but the ones on the back were lifeless.

Bea's eyes narrowed. She'd been right: the gloves could be broken. The circuitry on them was too intricate to be able to survive more than a few hits. But it hadn't worked as well as she'd hoped. The glove was still usable, and now Watts knew what she was trying to do.

It was time to test her other theory.

Bea rushed him, keeping her sword centred so he wouldn't know which way she'd attack. Watts backed up, hands held close to his chest, defensively. That wasn't good. She needed to get to his arms to try her next idea. She had to find a way to make him open up his guard.

She swung low, which he stepped over, then drew her sword upwards across his body, intentionally leaving herself open for an attack. Watts sidestepped, then almost hesitantly reached for her exposed side. As he did, Bea yanked her sword back across her body, slicing for his hand. He leapt back, jerking his hand back towards himself just in the nick of time. Bea's weapon continued downwards on its own momentum, arcing towards the ground. Just as it did, Bea stepped in front of it, blocking Watts' line-of-sight with her leg, and thumbed a button on the hilt.

The blade slammed into the ground, making a loud clanging sound that echoed through the confined hallway. When Bea lifted up her weapon again, Watts' eyes ignited in glee. The blade was a dull grey. Gone was the vibrant blue of the electricity.

It was now Bea's turn to stare in horror at her discharged weapon.

Watts launched himself at her, devious smile splitting his face. Bea backpedalled as fast as she could, trying to keep away from those electrified hands. Gone was Watts' apprehension, his defensiveness. Now he simply threw himself into his assault, knowing he could dish out far more damage than she.

A hand came snatching for her face. She ducked. A jab came thundering for her solar plexus. She jerked her body backwards, but this time her foot caught on the floor. She felt the tug of gravity drag her helpless form downwards, felt the ground rush up and crash into her back, punching the air from her chest. Watts stood over her, relishing his victory. Bea's eyes widened, and she spun onto her back to scrambled away, but Watts was too fast. He latched onto her leg with both hands, instantly flooding her nerves with electricity once more. Bea squirmed on the ground, not needing to fake the pain she felt.

 _Now_.

Somehow, Bea was able to twist her upper half, biting her tongue against the pain juddering through her body. Her arms jerked and shook, but somehow, she managed to bring her weapon about and place it over Watts' wrists, over the two black boxes humming away on them. Watts laughed his derision at her pitiful attempt to stop him, not even bothering to knock her blade off, and why would he need to, when it was no more than an added pressure on his wrists?

Until Bea pressed a button on the handle, that was.

In an instant, jets of blue lightning bounded up the blade, the weapon flaring back to life. Watts had only a second to cry out before the boxes on his wrists exploded. Searing white light blinded Bea, forcing her to look away. The supernova on Watts' hands seared Bea's legs, draining her aura down to its last few dregs, but it still held. Just.

When the mini sun finally died, Bea looked back at the destruction she'd caused. The black boxes had been generators, just like Bea had guessed. They would have contained a store of electrical dust, which would have been annihilated in small amounts to create controlled quantities of energy for Watts' gloves. But super charge those generators, and suddenly the dust in them became volatile. Explosive.

Sophisticated her arse.

Bea eased herself into a sitting position, rubbing her numb legs. Even though they didn't spasm uncontrollably anymore, they still ached. Her muscles were going to be sore for weeks. She glanced up to see Watts on his knees, cradling his hands, his wrists scorched, his sleeves burnt and smoking. Bea noticed with no small amount of relief that the wounds weren't healing; Watts' aura was well and truly gone. She glanced at his hands, at the remnants of his gloves, now no more than shreds of blackened material and loose wires.

Bea dragged herself to her feet, flicking the button on her weapon; the button that turned off the flow of electricity—the same button she'd used to trick Watts into thinking she'd discharged her sword. She stood over Watts, the man not even looking at her as he stared at the shreds of fabric on his hands.

"It's over Watts. You've lost."

If she expected him to snarl at her, or spit in her face, or even keel over in defeat, she was wrong. Instead, he simply looked up into her eyes, letting her see the fire that still blazed there, undimmed by defeat, and said, "Did you know how much longer we had to reach Vale?"

Bea faltered. "What?"

"Fifteen minutes," he answered for her. "Do you know how long our fight was?"

Realisation slammed into Bea at the same time his gloves did, bouncing off her face. They didn't hurt, but for the briefest of moments, Bea lost sight of Watts. When she saw him again he was no longer kneeling, but running away from her.

Towards the bridge.

* * *

Pyrrha tried to get a shot on Cinder, but she was already moving, zooming towards her friends, murderous intent glistening in her eyes. Ren and Nora didn't flinch as the witch zipped towards them, fireballs blossoming in her hands. Instead they merely crouched down, waiting.

Cinder reached them, two deadly projectiles firing their way. They dodged to either side, then darted towards Cinder. Ren leapt up, his body spinning through 360, blades shrinking as they slid off the sword Cinder had materialised. Ren hit the ground, weapons cracking as they spat bullets towards Cinder. She raised a hand, smiling as bits of crushed metal pinged off the shield she formed there.

But then Nora came in. She charged forward, hopped onto Ren's shoulders, then flew into the air, Ren extending to his full height at the same time Nora jumped, the added force giving her enough of a boost to launch her skyward.

Nora cleared Cinder's height, reaching the apex of her jump, before plunging downwards, hammerhead first. At the same time, Ren struck for Cinder's legs, forcing her to choose between which attack to defend from.

In the end, she chose both. She lifted her leg, dodging Ren's strike by a millimetre, then flicked it out. The heeled foot flung for Ren, forcing him to duck out. At the same time, she flung her hands upwards, dots of light coalescing into miniature spears around her. Pyrrha's eyes widened as a wall of sharpened points shot upwards, straight towards Nora.

Nora, still falling through the air, was helpless to the fate that speared towards her. She managed to put her hammer between them and her, but a number still managed to slip past. Nora was hit. Several times. Her aura glowed a vibrant pink, stretching itself to its absolute limit. Still Nora fell, her gaze laser-focused on the woman below her, hammer screaming through the air for justice.

Cinder didn't panic. Didn't flinch or dodge or attack. She simply held out her hand, and the ground below her began to glow. A whirling pattern of white, gold and red swirled into existence beneath her. Pyrrha cried out, too far to do anything but watch. She knew what that was.

Nora came down, a thunder goddess about to devastate the world. Cinder, with a speed and grace reserved only for the best of fighters, sidestepped.

The ground exploded, just as Nora collided with it. The air shook with the shockwave. Entire fragments of concrete flew up as two unstoppable forces met each other. Nora's body, looking so small among all the carnage around her, was jerked every way which, the explosion wracking her body, shards of rock slicing into her. She flew upwards, hammer wrenching free from her hands, as her aura exploded into pieces. She hit the ground, the air punched out of her chest with the force of a truck. Dust and dirt rained down around her, half burying her body among the ruins of her attack.

And Cinder, standing on the rim of the crater Nora had blasted into the planet, smiled.

Pyrrha was up and moving before the last mound of dirt had even landed. Her rifle came up against her shoulder, her finger flying to the trigger, emptying an entire clip at Cinder. She wasn't aiming to hit—she was experienced enough to know shooting and running only worked in movies—she just desperately wanted to drag Cinder's attention away. The demon blocked each and every shot that came close, unfazed by the song of bangs and pops that rang out around her. She took a step into the crater, towards the immobile ginger girl at its centre.

Pyrrha ran faster, head down, feet thundering against the tarmac. Ren shouted in alarm and leapt at Cinder, selflessly putting himself between her and Nora. He raised Storm Flower, body crouched, eyes narrowed. Then he threw himself at Cinder.

Ren fought with a vigour and determination Pyrrha had almost never seen in him before, striking and blocking and dodging in a desperate dance with Death, putting every part of himself into each attack, slashing with every inch of his soul.

But he was never going to have lasted long. He was nothing but a lone man fighting against the goddess of destruction, and though he threw everything he had at her, it wasn't enough. With a casual flick of her hand, a blaze of fire barrelled towards Ren. He tried to dodge, but was just too slow, too tired. The fire consumed him, lifting him into the air like a ragdoll and tossing him aside. Then Cinder continued her unhurried, inexorable strut towards Nora.

Pyrrha was close now. Close enough to spot Nora's left hand inching towards her hammer, splayed fingers crawling across the dirt. But then a heeled foot came crashing down, stabbing into the back of Nora's hand and pinning it to the ground. Nora cried out, her other hand batting at the foot holding her down, trying to pry it off. Cinder seemed to relish the helplessness of her prey, eyes glinting wickedly as she leaned down on her foot and began to twist it. A scream of pain escaped Nora as her bones were ground into the hard floor, pointed heel digging into her flesh.

Pyrrha kept running. Fifty meters. Forty. Cinder's hand began to glow, flames dancing around her fingers. Thirty meters to go. Twenty. Cinder pointed it towards the helpless Nora, trapped on the ground and without any aura, preparing to incinerate the girl to ash. Ten meters.

Too far.

Pyrrha felt the knowledge settle in her like a piece of lead dropped in a pond. She watched, as if in slow motion, as Cinder's eyes burnt a malicious orange, saw the flames retreat temporarily, winding back to shoot out. Noticed Nora's eyes widening, realising that they were looking at the last thing they'd ever see. The tips of Cinder's fingers burnt, the fire washing back down her arm, rushing outwards, orange vipers snapping towards Nora, too far away to reach in time.

Or at least, too far away for _her_ to reach in time.

With a shout, Pyrrha flung her shield towards Cinder's wrist. It connected, throwing her attack wide, scorching the ground beside Nora but otherwise missing the girl. Cinder's gaze flung around, eyes burning with hatred. Pyrrha barely noticed. She ran at Cinder, spear extending before her, jabbing for her chest, then swinging for her leg, before crashing down towards her head. Cinder blocked with a forearm each time, but the strength of the blows was enough to force her backwards, away from Nora.

Pyrrha kept attacking, never letting up for a second, throwing every move she had at Cinder. She moved like she had never moved before, desperation lending her speed and strength, whirling and spinning in a tornado of steel blows.

Cinder was forced into retreat, wrestling to keep her footing as Pyrrha forged onwards, leaping within her guard anytime she tried to get space. She grabbed Pyrrha's blade, metal hissing as it heated up, so Pyrrha headbutted her. She stumbled back, hand to her nose, hissing, "I should have burnt you when I had the chance."

"You tried."

"A small oversight on my behalf, easily corrected."

A fireball blossomed in Cinder's grip, but Pyrrha leapt in, grabbing her wrist and holding it away. Her aura was practically non-existent; just one lucky hit would spell the end of her. The thought only made her fight harder. Cinder had to be stopped. Not just for the sake of Vale, but for the sake of her friends, for Nora and Ren. Speaking of…

A blur of green shot past them. A knife glanced off Cinder's side, sparking her aura. She spun, and Pyrrha struck, driving her weapon into Cinder's chest. Together Ren and Pyrrha whirled around Cinder, leaping in, then ducking back out before she could counter. For a moment, the two teammates moved in tandem, dancing the deadly dance around their adversary, swerving past obsidian blades and ducking under fireballs.

But it couldn't last forever.

Eventually, Ren made a mistake. It was a small one, little more than a misplaced foot, but all of a sudden Cinder's hand shot towards his face. He tried to swerve back but couldn't quite get out of the way. The hand clasped around his throat, lifting him clear into the air. Pyrrha darted in to save him, but Cinder was expecting that. The ground suddenly began hissing beneath her, forcing her to flip backwards or be turned into putty as the floor exploded.

Cinder pulled Ren close, fist contracting, smile wide. "Did you honestly believe you were strong enough to beat me?" she scorned.

"No," hissed Ren, "but she is."

It took Cinder a single second to realise that Ren wasn't referring to Pyrrha. It took half that time for Nora's hammer to wham into her back with a sickening _crack_!

Cinder may have possessed powers beyond anything Pyrrha had ever seen, but she also possessed a backbone, and after being hit by brute forces—such as those produced by a hammer—bad things tended to happen. For Cinder, that was to be sent soaring through the air like a jet, smashing into the ground and tearing up the tarmac in a long line as she skidded through the dust.

Ren pulled Nora close to him, holding her broken hand, the one that Cinder had stomped on, close to his face. He didn't try to tell her to stand down, despite her lack of aura. He knew what she'd say to that suggestion. In return, Nora gave Ren one of her bravest smiles, slightly more brittle than usual, but there nonetheless, making it clear to Ren that she could keep going. That she _would_ keep going. And judging by the figure rising out of the dirt like an avenging demon, they were going to need all the help they could get.

Nora handed Pyrrha back her shield, and Pyrrha gave her a nod of thanks. The three of them stood together, weapons ready, eying the burning star floating above them.

Cinder's aura flickered, cracking along the seams but just about holding. Cinder was low, but not out. "You think you've beaten me?" she demanded. "You think you've won?! You've lost! Watts is here with his fleet. Your city will be nothing but rubble when he's done. You've saved nothing. Nothing!"

Pyrrha shielded her eyes against the glare of Cinder, squinting at the horizon. The elevation of Beacon gave her a commanding view of the surroundings, but at first, she saw nothing. There was the sea to one side, the deep greens of a forest to the other, a bank of grey clouds to the North, the sprawling city beneath he—

Pyrrha glanced back at the clouds. Except they weren't clouds, she realised. They were airships. Dozens of them, hundreds even, crawling over the horizon like a swarm of locusts. The entire might of the legendary fleet of Atlas lay poised on the horizon.

Heading towards Vale.

"They wouldn't," Nora denied. "Atlas wouldn't."

But deep down, despite how much Pyrrha desperately wanted Nora to be right, she knew that even if Atlas wouldn't, then Watts—whomever he was—would.

They were about to witness the annihilation of Vale.

* * *

Bea took off at a sprint after Watts, cursing her blindness. Watts had known all along victory was improbable. He hadn't been fighting to beat her; he'd been fighting to stall her. And now…

Watts rounded a corner, Bea following not a meter behind, yet as she thundered around the turn, her shins collided with something hard. She went down, cursing, and Watts widened the distance between them, throwing more obstacles in her path. She kicked away the thing she'd fallen over, shoving herself back into the race.

Portholes whizzed by her, and in one she dared to glance out. Outside, she could make out the rising sun, the emerald meadows, the scenic forests blanketing the land, and in the not so far distance, something that made her heart stop dead in her chest. Rooftops basking in the rising orange orb, towers glinting prettily, pillars of industrial smoke rising towards the heavens. Vale. It was within firing range.

Bea forced herself onwards, pushing her straining body to its absolute limits as she dodged past projectiles Watts hurled over his shoulder. She had to stop Watts. She had to, she had to, she had to.

Watts reached the Bridge, a large room at the end of a corridor. He threw the door shut, bolt thudding into place just as Bea crashed into it, locking her out. Bea put one shoulder to the door, grunting and swearing as she heaved against it. It didn't give. Bea pushed away and took a few steps back. The door was locked fast, but the lock was only made of wood; it wasn't reinforced like the bulkheads down below. That didn't stop a grimace from slipping over her face. This was going to hurt.

With a running start, Bea barrelled into the door. It stubbornly held, hurling her back off. She went further back this time, charging at the door with a shout. For a moment it bent inwards, right on the precipice of snapping open, before it tossed her back yet again. With strength failing her and hope rapidly dwindling, she took one last run up and threw herself at the door.

With a grinding snap of wood, the door flew open. Bea crashed through, collapsing into a heap on the other side. She stared up, and the sight she saw was enough to flood her senses with dread.

The bridge was almost completely vacant, except for one woman manning the weapons station. She was furiously slapping keys in front of her, eyes wide in terror as Watts towered over her. He turned as Bea entered, eyes flashing dangerously.

"Fire on Vale now!" he commanded the petrified woman in front of him.

"But sir—"

"Do it!" he screamed.

The woman threw one, last, desperate glance at Bea, her eyes imploring, before she tapped in the final key and prepared to hit the fire button. Bea knew what would happen next, clear as if she were watching it on a screen. Their dreadnought would fire, giving the signal for every other ship in the sky to do the same. A barrage of death would rocket out of the heavens like a pre-emptive Judgement Day, impossibly fast. The inhabitants of Vale would receive—maybe—thirty seconds max to react, before their entire existence was wiped out in a blaze of hellfire. The stench of horror, of fear and hopelessness and loss in those few seconds would be enough to attract every Grimm for miles around, and the massacre of Vale would begin. Thousands would die. Millions would be affected. And all because of the madman grinning in front of her.

All because she had been too slow to stop him.

She couldn't accept that.

Bea summoned every ounce of aura she had left, drawing every inch of her soul, of her very being—all her fear, rage, desperation, pain, hopes, dreams, all of it—into one, last attack. She drained every cell in her body of its strength, sapping every atom of all the energy it offered her, pulling it inwards, storing it, building it up. In less than a heartbeat, the power in her had grown to monstrous proportions, tearing at her insides for release. With a roar, Bea hurled everything she was in one, unstoppable lightning bolt. Watts saw it coming straight at him, too fast to dodge, and his eyes widened fractionally.

But the distance was too great.

The lightning veered off, attracted by the metal frame of the airship all around it. It smashed into the floor, feet from the weapons station, decimating the ground where it landed and rippling out across the metal surface. By the time the electricity reached Watts, it didn't even have the strength to shock him through his loafers. He looked at her, eyes blazing in triumph, the victor of their extended struggle.

The woman hit the fire button…

…and nothing happened.

Watts spun to Bea, his face a mask of fury, to find her pulling herself to her feet, now the one boasting the triumphant grin.

"How?" he managed to spit. "You missed the terminal."

"I wasn't aiming for it," she smirked, pointing to the floor where her lightning bolt had hit. The floor panel had flipped off, revealing the smoking and warped wiring leading from the weapons console, now utterly fried. The woman sobbed in relief.

Watts gave a strangled cry and threw himself at Bea.

* * *

"Why isn't he firing?" hissed Cinder, glaring at the dark ships swarming over the horizon.

For a moment, Pyrrha dared to hope. The ships weren't firing. Could it really be? "You've lost, Cinder." Pyrrha started. She turned, as did Ren and Nora, to see Professor Ozpin walking towards them. The headmaster had seen better days; his suit was in tatters, his face and hands smeared in soot, and he smelled of brimstone and ash. But nonetheless, he walked tall and proud, unstooped despite the ordeal he'd been through. He made it to the three students, nodding towards them each in turn. "My apologies, children. That hit was harder than I'd anticipated. I assume I have you to thank for it not incinerating me."

Pyrrha couldn't resist the smile that gilded her face. "Eh, it was nothing," preened Nora.

Ozpin now raised his voice to Cinder. "The men of Atlas will not attack. Your invasion has failed. It's over."

Cinder laughed then, rather hysterically. "Over? Over?! I've only just begun! The power of the maiden belongs to me!"

Ozpin sighed. "I know why you want the power, Cinder, and I promise you now, it won't help you."

"You don't know anything about me, old man."

"Don't I?" queried Ozpin. "I know you are in your mid-twenties, born and raised in Mistral, judging by your accent."

"Is that all?" scoffed Cinder.

"I wasn't finished. I also know that a little over twenty years ago, Mistral had one of the highest proportions of waives in recent history. There was no government help for those who needed it then. Orphanages were purely charity-funded, and often overflowing. Many children who most needed help were turned away. Even those that weren't had to fight for everything: food, clothing, space. I know, because I visit during those troubled times."

Cinder had gone very, very still in the air, staring at Ozpin. Pyrrha did the same. She'd never heard about this part of her Kingdom's history, but then again, she'd never really bothered to pry either. She'd lived in one of the nicer parts of Mistral, and in Mistral where you were born dictated where you went. She'd almost never visited the poorer, more derelict parts of her city, though she knew enough to know it wasn't a nice place to live. Especially for children.

Ozpin continued. "It wasn't an easy life. Many children found themselves on the streets, fighting for every scrap of bread they could get their hands on. For some, scavenging and stealing were not enough." At this he sighed again, as if it brought him great pain to recount this aspect of human history. "Many needed to find other methods to earn their food, often in less savoury ways. For quite a lot of young girls, they sold the only commodity they possessed: their bodies. Some did so willingly, whilst others were coerced into it by the gangs that ran the under-streets. It was a pitiful existence, but it was existing, so many remained like this."

"You know nothing about me," Cinder whispered, though now it felt more like a plea, like Cinder didn't _want_ Ozpin to know about her.

"I don't," accepted Ozpin. "But I know about a lot of other girls who were in the very same situation as you. Powerless to their own destinies. And I find it very easy to imagine someone such as yourselves deciding they didn't like being powerless."

Pyrrha stared at Cinder, sensing Ren and Nora doing the same, no longer with hatred, but now with something else. Something that almost verged on pity.

That was a mistake. Cinder saw the looks on their faces and roared in fury. "You think recounting my history is going to magically make he join you now? You think it's going to make me forgive all you've done, sitting in your warm, glass towers whilst others starved?" Fire erupted across her sleeves. "I'll kill you all and burn Vale myself!"

"You can't beat us all," warned Ozpin.

Cinder's eyes flared. "Can't I?"

She rocketed towards them, fire streaming off her. Nora and Ren dove to the side, but she wasn't aiming for them. Instead, she shot straight towards Pyrrha. Ozpin tried to step in front of her, but Cinder snaked around him, reaching for the spartan. She tried to bring her shield around, but Cinder knocked it away, igniting a fireball that sent it careening out of her hands. She grabbed Pyrrha around the waist, dragging her into the air. Pyrrha's stomach lurched as she soared upwards, the ground disappearing beneath her.

Cinder grabbed her wrist, holding her outwards. Pyrrha's legs dangled over empty air, kicking uselessly to try to gain some purchase. Miló came around, but Cinder caught it. She kicked Pyrrha's hand open, then tossed the sword away. Pyrrha made the mistake of looking down after it and felt her mind whirl at the dizzying drop. Her friends were scrambling about below her, little more than ants from this height. If Cinder let go of her now, she'd be nothing more than a red smudge in under two seconds.

Cinder regarded her disdainfully. "I always hated you," she revealed, as if she were sharing a secret with Pyrrha and not holding her a hundred meters above the ground. "Every time I watched you fight, every picture that appeared of you on that ridiculous cereal, I wanted nothing more than to punch your pretty, perfect teeth out. How was it fair that I had been forced to fight my way into the world just to survive, whilst here you were, a pampered little princess, being spoon-fed everything you ever needed and fighting your little fights as if it were a game?"

Pyrrha wrestled against her body's natural rotation, struggling to keep facing Cinder as her body was battered by winds that had been contained on the ground, but which were now able to lash her freely. "You don't have to do this," she pleaded.

"You're right," smiled Cinder. "But I want to." And then she let go.

* * *

Bea stumbled backwards, bringing her weapon around between them. Watts got in closer, slapping her hand aside and sending her weapon flying. The maroon cylinder shot from her clutch, sliding across the floor and out of view. Watts' hands came up, enveloping her throat in his grasp before she could pull away. Bea's eyes bulged, and she fell backwards, trying to break away from Watts. He simply fell with her, his fingers forming an unbreakable vice around her neck.

Bea slammed into the ground and her head snapped backwards, cracking painfully against the metal floor. Her vision blurred momentarily, and in that time, Watts managed to crawl on top of her, pinning her to the ground.

Bea's eyes widened. Watts, more animal now than man, roared into her face, spittle splashing over her. He leaned down, his hands inexorably squeezing the life out of her. She began to gag, lungs straining for air, hands scrambling to prise away Watts' girder-like fingers. She threw her gaze over his shoulder, hoping to spot the weapon's lady. Surely she would help? But by the looks of the empty bridge, she'd already run off. She was on her own.

Bea slapped her hands against Watts', shoving and straining to overcome him, but it was like trying to topple a pillar. Her nails bit into his flesh, earning a snarl for her efforts but no more room to breathe.

That was when Watts leaned down and whispered, "Sleep."

Instantly, Bea felt his semblance working, so obvious now that she knew to look for it. It coursed through her, a wave of icy water, just as it had done so many times before, and just like before, that water seemed to heat rapidly, becoming lusciously warm, soothing even, enveloping her in its warm embrace. As that warmth permeated through her, the fatigue hit like a brick wall. She was tired. Oh so very tired. She'd been fighting for so long, how could one little nap hurt? She just needed to close her eyes for a second, only a second. Bea's eyelids drooped, even as her hands fell limply to her sides. She just needed to sleep…

 _No!_ Bea shoved against the heavy weight of exhaustion smothering her under its suffocating sheets. She couldn't sleep. Wouldn't. If she closed her eyes now, she knew she'd never open them again.

She gritted her teeth and forced her eyelids open, even as her vision began to blur from the lack of oxygen. She forced her hands upwards, reaching for Watts face, fingers becoming jagged claws that tore and rent into flesh, scratching deep gashes across his cheeks in the shape of her talons.

"Sleep!" he hissed, eyes squinted against Bea's prying fingers. Another wall of frozen water crashed through her, but Bea stubbornly refused to give into the well of exhaustion opening up within her, clinging to that hateful face in front of her as she doubled her efforts to gouge out his eyes.

It was all no good. Even without Watts' semblance, she felt her strength fading, her limbs becoming dead weights on tired limbs, her vision blackening as dark spots exploded into view before her. She was asphyxiating. Dying. Watts was going to kill her.

Watts brought his leering face an inch from hers, eyes ablaze with dark pleasure. "You've lost," he spat. "I'll simply transfer to another ship once you're dead. Vale will be destroyed. You've changed _nothing_!"

 _Nothing_. After all her efforts, after everything she'd done: _nothing_. Was that to be her legacy? The person who had come close to saving Vale? Who had almost won?

She tried to scramble a few dregs of her semblance together, but it was all gone. Used up when she'd destroyed the weapon's terminal. Her arms were dragged down by gravity, away from Watts face, falling limply to her sides. Watts crowed in victory. Bea's vision blackened.

With the last of her strength she inched her hand underneath her, to the small of her back. Cold metal in the shape of a cylinder greeted warm hands. She was too drained to even pull it out. Instead she simply trailed her finger along its length, the familiar swirling pattern guiding her digit as it came to rest on a button.

Bea pushed it.

Arcs of electricity shot through Bea, locking up her muscles, frying her nerves. She bucked in pain as she was electrocuted for what must have been the umpteenth time, current racing from the electrified whip she'd just extended beneath her through her body. Straight into Watts.

He jerked backwards, crying out and releasing his death grip on Bea's throat. Bea gasped, gulping down raggedy breaths as she relished the glorious taste of air again. She fingered the button on her whip, turning it off. Her throat burned, and she knew she'd have some serious bruises there, but she forced down her discomfort, dragging herself onto shaky hands and knees and crawling away.

"You bitch!" spat Watts. Bea had an instant of warning to flip onto her back and hold out the handle of her weapon, the red cylinder looking so small and pathetic in her hands. Her whip would just as likely damage her as it would Watts if she tried to use it in close quarters, but Watts didn't know that. And judging by the way his eyes widened and he backed up a step, the sting of the weapon was all too prevalent in his mind.

Watts growled his frustrations, eyeing the cylinder in her hand like someone would a box of radioactive waste. Bea had the advantage here. She had a weapon, even if the environment significantly reduced its use. Still, that was better than Watts, who had nothing. She just needed to get up. Just get back into the fight. Yet the simple task of dragging herself back to her feet felt more impossible than human flight at that moment. She was still trying to shake off Watts semblance, and the lack of oxygen for so long had left her brain foggy. Her limbs felt like butter, and her nerves were struggling to reorganise themselves after the most recent electric shock.

For a moment, she wondered if she'd be able to get back up. Watts wouldn't wait for her forever. Already he was inching forward, perhaps hoping to rush her before she could activate her weapon. She tried to force her muscles to contract, but they wouldn't respond. She was just so shattered.

And then she heard a voice that had a crash of frozen water, colder than anything Watts' semblance could produce, rushing through her veins. "Salutations, Miss Bea. I have done as you asked. I estimate this ship to now be eighty-five percent evacuated."

Bea's head angled to the side, down a corridor perpendicular to theirs. There, stood at the end and happily waving to get Bea's attention, was the ginger-haired girl Bea had bumped into before. Penny, Bea remembered. She spotted the girl, standing there alone and unarmed, ignorant to the monster standing not ten meters away.

So did Watts.

"No!" Bea screamed, seeing Watts' eyes ignite in sadistic pleasure. He leapt past Bea, thudding down the corridor towards Penny. Bea somehow managed to find the energy buried deep within her to hurl her body at his, fingers snatching for his leg. They grasped fabric, smooth and slippery, holding for only a fraction of a second before they were torn out of her clenching digits.

No.

Watts thundered towards Penny, an enraged bull on a rampage. Penny's eyes went wide, and she fell back a step, yet still she didn't run, didn't realise the full extent of the danger. Watts collided with her, wrapping the petite girl up in both arms. Penny gasped. Bea cried out. Watts simply grinned in triumph, one arm grabbing Penny around her torso whilst the other pinned her throat to his chest, holding her between him and Bea.

"Here's what's going to happen," Watts smiled, his voice slipping back into that smooth drawl now that he was back in control. "You're going to watch as I get off this ship and fly to another. Meanwhile, you're going to stay here and do nothing to prevent me destroying Vale. Otherwise I'm going to kill this girl."

Bea's throat felt like it was constricting all over again. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Watts had that little girl, no more than a child, utterly at his mercy. He would kill her in a heartbeat if she tried anything on him. He had her hands tied.

"Bea, is this man troubling you?" Penny asked, looking inquisitively up at her captor.

"Be quiet," ordered Watts, and even from a distance Bea knew he was using his semblance on her.

"Do you wish for me to help you?" asked Penny, her voice never once rising in volume.

Bea blinked. Penny had overcome Watts semblance without even a moment's hesitation. And why wasn't she panicking? Didn't she understand that a madman was holding her hostage?

Apparently, Watts was just as surprised as Bea at Penny's unperturbed question. "I said, be quiet!"

"Do what he says, Penny," Bea called. "You can't do anything against Watts."

"Do not worry, Bea," chirped Penny. Then her eyes narrowed as they turned to Watts. "I am combat ready."

Something in that tone had a single bead of sweat trailing down Watts' forehead. His arm tightened around Penny's throat, trying to choke her into submission. "I said be quie—ah, ah, ah!"

Bea watched transfixed as Penny calmly reached up with a single hand and pulled Watts arm away from her throat. For a moment, Watts could do nothing but stare at it, as if it belonged to someone else. Then, with a single, swift motion, Penny broke it.

Watts had barely a second to cry out before Penny had spun and swept his feet out from under him. He fell hard, barking out a cry of pain. Penny towered over him, the previously innocuous child now seeming like some sort of harbinger of justice. Watts scrambling back, broken arm cradled to his chest, legs furiously propelling himself across the floor. On Penny's back, a device that looked like a backpack opened up, and out levitated two short swords.

The sight of the weapons finally snapped Bea out of her stupor. "Penny, wait!" Penny turned and looked at her questioningly. Bea opened her mouth, but suddenly found she didn't know what to say. Why was she stopping Penny? Didn't Watts deserve death? He'd tried to massacre an entire Kingdom. Wasn't his death justice for that? And if they took him in alive, what was to stop him from simply escaping? No, this man would never stop being a threat until the day he was dead. Bea opened her mouth to give the order…

And yet… didn't that make her as bad as him? Killing a defenceless person without a trial, regardless of whether they deserved it, was murder. Was she really willing to go down that path? And if she did kill him, wouldn't that make her the usurper? If Watts died, then the Valeophobes who had secretly wanted the war could brand him as a martyr, the hero who had died for Atlesian sovereignty, whilst her, the immigrant, had struck him down in his prime. She wouldn't help anything by ending Watts here. But if she brought him in, if she made him face justice in front of the entire nation, the entire world, then maybe she could salvage something of Atlas' integrity. Goodwill between the Kingdoms would be vital to preventing a future war. Wasn't this the best way to ensure that?

Mind made up, Bea said, "Don't kill him. He needs to face judgement for what he's done."

"Don't worry, Bea," Penny reassured her. "I wasn't about to." The blades shot towards Watts, earning a shout of fear from him, but they didn't attack. Instead they whirled around him, and it was only then that Bea realised the swords weren't actually disembodied, but rather they had thread-thin strings attached to their ends. That must have been how Penny controlled them.

The blades continued to circle Watts, then began to contract, the radii of their flight paths constricting with each successive lap, pulling the strings ever tighter around Watts' ensnared body. He began to struggle, heaving and pushing against the near-invisible threads that rapidly ate up his freedom, but with each jerk of his body, Penny's wires simply squeezed harder, until eventually Watts was encased in a transparent cocoon of silk.

"Threat neutralised," Penny informed Bea, turning to face her, a pleased smile splitting her face, as if capturing corrupt generals were commonplace for her.

Bea finally found the energy in her to stand, though she did so unsteadily. She stared at the beaming ginger girl, eyeing her as one would a nuclear warhead. "Are you going to tell me what the hell that was?"

"Um…" Penny's smile wilted in the face of Bea's suspicion. "M-my father saw it prudent th-that I should learn how to defend myself," Penny stammered, going red with embarrassment.

"And you breaking his arm like it was nothing?"

"Um, that was… err… my semblance." Penny hiccupped.

"Your semblance?"

"Yes." _Hiccup_.

"And you're sure there's nothing else to it?"

"Positive." _Hiccup_.

Bea shook her head, too exhausted to push any further. Besides, Penny had saved her life; the least she could do was give her the benefit of the doubt. "Thanks for the help there, Penny."

"You are most welcome. What would you like me to do with the General?"

"Release me!" bellowed Watts.

"Just stow him somewhere secure," sighed Bea, pinching the bridge of her nose where she could feel a headache forming. "His own quarters will do for now."

"Affirmative," replied Penny, giving Bea an enthusiastic salute, before turning back around and hoisting Watts onto her shoulder like a sack of tinsel. A very loud sack of tinsel.

"Unhand me at once! Put me down! I am the general of the Atlesian military and you will do what I say!"

"Hush now, Mr General. It isn't polite to shout in public." Watts' only reply was to scream in frustration.

Bea watched the two of them go, Watts practically frothing at the mouth, and Penny chatting amiably with him. Bea was so preoccupied, that she almost missed the sound of light footsteps behind her. She gripped her weapon and spun around to face her new opponent. Winter Schnee stared back at her.

"You look disgraceful," Winter noted.

"You hardly look any better," Bea shot back, but the barb was missing as she looked the specialist up and down. Her uniform was cut up in certain places, and her hair was a mess, matted with sweat and with several strands having escaped the tight bun she'd put them in. Fortunately, it didn't look like Winter was injured, and that brought more relief to Bea than she'd expected it would. Regardless, it was good to see Winter in one piece. "What happened to your guy anyway?"

"He fell," Winter stated. He… what?

"What do you mean he fell?" asked Bea.

"He fell," Winter repeated, not a hint of emotion on her face.

"Fell where? And why should that matt—"

"He fell."

A beat passed as Bea thought about it. She looked at Winter again, noting once more the errant hair strands. On closer inspection, they didn't appear out of place because of the sweat or the strain of the battle. Rather, they looked as if they'd been blown about. As if Winter had been standing in the wind recently.

"Holy hell, you threw him off the airship, didn't you?"

"He fell," Winter insisted. Bea could hardly contain the grin creeping over her face.

"Is he dead then?"

Winter sighed, pulling a hand through her hair. "Had it been anyone else, I would have been left in no doubt that they'd fallen to their certain demise. Yet that man… Hazel… now I am not so sure of my previous assumption. Regardless, he won't be causing us any further problems. I take it you overcame Watts?"

Overcame? More like been rescued by a teenager. "Sure."

"Is it over then?" Winter asked. "Did we win?"

Bea glanced to the side, to the porthole and the rising sun peeping in, to the city beyond, lying dormant and sleepy. Their job wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot. They still needed to get back to the bridge, send a message to the other ships to call off the assault, then pull out of Valesian airspace and organise a ceasefire with Vale, all the while fighting to plug the power vacuum Watts had left and ensure he wasn't succeeded by someone even worse. It might take weeks, maybe months even until they were finished. But in terms of victory…

"Yes," Bea whispered, "we won."

* * *

Gravity was a cruel, vindictive thing. Pyrrha had never considered it her enemy though, until the moment Cinder let go of her wrist.

And she began to plunge to her certain death.

Pyrrha's free hand shot outwards, grappling for purchase. It latched onto Cinder's arm, smooth fabric slipping between her fingers until they snapped onto her wrist. Pyrrha jerked to a stop, her entire weight yanking down onto her one arm. Cinder frowned at the move, as if annoyed that Pyrrha hadn't plummeted to her death yet. Her eyes began to glow, and her wrist heated up, becoming searingly hot. Pyrrha couldn't hold on for much longer. She needed to do something.

Pyrrha twisted her wrist, swinging her body towards Cinder and slamming a foot into her stomach. Cinder grunted, grabbing her foot with her free hand, allowing Pyrrha to release Cinder's wrist and latch onto the collar of her dress, before driving her fist into Cinder's face.

Cinder's concentration must have lapsed for a second, because they suddenly plummeted towards the ground. Pyrrha's stomach leapt into her mouth, but then Cinder stabilised their flight. She growled in Pyrrha's face. "Fine, you want to go flying; let's go."

Without warning, Cinder shot sideways, taking Pyrrha with her. Sky became ground and ground sky as Cinder twisted Pyrrha, positioning herself on top. Pyrrha's sight became a blur as the two women shot horizontally, tearing through the air like a blazing rocket. Her breathing became a raggedy pant as wind tore past them, whipping at her face. She'd never been this fast before, let alone with a woman who wanted to kill her. For a panicked moment, Pyrrha could do nothing but bury her fists in the fabric of Cinder's dress, clutching desperately to the only thing keeping her up.

Cinder took advantage of this, raising her fists and pummelling them into Pyrrha's face. The first few blows landed, hard and solid, and that seemed to snap Pyrrha out of her fear. Her instincts kicked in, throwing up one hand and taking the following hits on the forearm. The fists became burning bricks, hammering against her defence. She took them, waiting for an opening. When one came, she exploded upwards, launching an elbow into Cinder's jaw, followed by a punch to the stomach.

The two grappled in the air as the wind howled around them and the sights blurred beneath them. At first Cinder had the upper hand, being used to flying, and having the added advantage of being on top. But Pyrrha hadn't become a champion fighter by not being adaptable. Soon she began to work out the best way to punch without losing her grip, how to sense when Cinder was about to launch a blow. She was able to twist her body around, dragging Cinder's trajectory off course, veering them to the side. As soon as she'd done that, she twisted the other way, jerking Cinder off balance, before wrestling onto the dominant top position. She wrapped her legs around Cinder's midriff, then used both hands to beat down onto her. Cinder grabbed her wrists, hands heating up. Pyrrha headbutted her, then yanked her hands free.

Cinder snarled at her, a blade materialising in her hand. Pyrrha latched onto the wrist, forcing it away from her. Her aura was so low that she reckoned a single stab would finish her. She guessed she had enough for maybe one last magnetic push or pull, but her weapons were too far away. How else could she end this fight then?

Pyrrha glanced around, noticing for the first time the structures they raced past. They were still over Beacon's grounds though far above them. Down below, she could make out the destroyed quad where her friends no doubt were, as well as the main school building. To her side loomed the CCT tower, the only building at their height. The top rose into a peak, tipped with a metal spire. A sickening idea came to her mind, filling her with nausea. It was wrong. It was cruel. But Pyrrha didn't have any other choice. Only one of them were walking away from this fight; Cinder would make sure of that. The only thing Pyrrha could do was ensure it was her.

An elbow found its way to her jaw, and she grunted a reprimand to herself. She couldn't afford to get distracted now. She turned back to her adversary, but ever so slightly, she twisted to the side, angling their flight towards the CCT. Cinder didn't seem to notice, too preoccupied trying to ignite herself and burn Pyrrha off like a fever. The trouble was the wind kept whipping her fire away, otherwise Pyrrha would have been a burnt crisp by now.

Now that Pyrrha was keeping half an eye on their trajectory, she noticed the tower rush towards them. She couldn't let Cinder figure out what she was doing. Pyrrha began to drive her fists into Cinder's face, forcing her to block, covering her eyes. She twisted again, correcting their flight, knowing she had to time this perfectly.

Cinder finally managed to get a flame to catch, the fire racing down her arms and igniting Pyrrha's clothing. Pyrrha pulled in the last few dregs of her aura, not letting it protect her, knowing she needed all of it for what she was about to do.

The CCT raced closer. The tip glinted in the morning light. Cinder glanced up at last, realising where they were. She tilted her body, trying to veer them away, but Pyrrha wrestled back, gritting her teeth as she fought to keep their course. Cinder hissed in her face, slamming a hand against her kidneys. Pyrrha took it. They soared closer, close enough to see the spiked peak glinting wickedly. Cinder saw it at last, and her eyes widened as she realised Pyrrha's plan. She opened her mouth, but whether it was to shout or scream or cry out, Pyrrha would never know. Because just at that moment, Pyrrha wrapped her arms around Cinder's back in a bear hug and _pulled_.

On the spire.

The two of them shot towards it, even faster than before. Pyrrha spun, angling herself away from the spike. Cinder screamed in her face. Her hands exploded into fire. Too late. Pyrrha threw herself off Cinder, releasing her death grip at last and sending one final burst of speed into Cinder with a double-footed kick. Pyrrha hit the sloped roof, knees buckling as flesh met metal. She slid down, the slope too great to stand on. Her feet hit the edge of the roof, kept going. Next went her knees, disappearing over the edge and into the unknown. Then her waist, then her torso, and finally her head.

At the last second, she spun around and latched onto the metal rim of the roof. She cried out as her body jerked to a stop, arms nearly popping straight out of their sockets. For the second time, Pyrrha's feet hovered in empty space. Far, far below her, the tower stretched downwards, merging with the concrete ground below. She tried not to think what would happen if she slipped now.

With a grunt of effort, she swung her leg onto the roof, then pushed her body along with it. The roof sloped above her, but just before the drop below there was a level rim, like a sort of narrow balcony, which was what Pyrrha lay on now, panting. For a moment, she considered closing her eyes. How easy it would be to just shut down and sleep after everything she'd been through. Her body yearned for it, begged and implored her to give in to that pit of exhaustion inside her. But her mind knew better. She wasn't done just yet.

And so, with a soft moan, she pulled herself back to her feet and began to scale the roof. It wasn't an easy climb by any means, but she soon managed to reach the peak.

There, lying on the top of the CCT, was Cinder. Her eyes were closed, her arms and legs limp. Her red dress seemed darker than usual, stained a crimson by her blood. Through her torso rose the tip of the CCT tower.

She had been skewered.

Red blood dripped down the metal pole that passed through the right side of her chest, Cinder's lifeforce pooling at its base. It was a grotesque sight, straight out of her worst nightmares, and for a moment Pyrrha thought she was going to hurl up her entire empty stomach.

Then Cinder's eyes fluttered open, struggling to focus on Pyrrha. Her breathing came out ragged, a wet rasp accompanying each laboured pant. Pyrrha moved closer, drawn inexorably by those amber eyes. They didn't burn now; didn't blaze with fury or hatred. They simply looked scared. They were the eyes of a lost child forced to grow up before her time. And now, staring death in the face, they were terrified. Cinder tried to open her mouth, but only a wet gurgle emanated from her. Pyrrha moved towards her and, not quite sure why she did it, took Cinder's hand in her own. They were warm. Not hot. Just warm, as a human's hand should be. Looking at her now, Pyrrha couldn't find it in her to see this as a monster. This was a human, a person, just like herself, with hopes and dreams and fears and loves and hates and life: life that was now leaking from her because of Pyrrha. Because of what she'd done.

She should have felt contempt. Looking at Cinder's dying form, knowing she'd done it, she should have felt only resentment, disgust, maybe even a bit of sick pride, certainly relief that she'd finally won. But all she felt was pity, and a deep, inescapable sadness. Cinder had tried to kill her, yes, but that was only after a lifetime of the world despising her. It wasn't right that after all she had suffered, this should be her fate. It wasn't fair.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. She didn't just mean for her killing her.

Cinder's eyes shuttered, the light slowly leeching from them, but the pupils settled once more on Pyrrha for just long enough to let her know that Cinder knew exactly what she meant. Then Cinder closed her eyes, released one last, raggedy breath, and died.

Atop of the world and utterly alone except for the screaming wind, Pyrrha sat down besides the body of the woman she had killed and wept bitter, bitter tears.

* * *

 **I have never liked Cinder in the show. Not even in terms of "she's a bad character/villain", just simply because she's a bitch and I want her to die. But if I'm perfectly honest, giving her a backstory of my own might have actually made me hate her just a little less. Not enough to not kill her in the most gruesome way I could think of, mind you, but still, baby steps guys. I just thought giving her a reason as to _why_ she wants power, instead of it being "mwahaha, I'm evil, so I must do bad things" might actually make her a semi-interesting character to read about. **

**Anyway, Penny was also here, and this time nobody needed to change their pennies into quarters** **. Watts' semblance was explained at last, though you could have figured it out based on the clues I sprinkled throughout the story. We got my best guess as to what his weapon would be too, though that's likely to be retconned come volume 6. Oh yes, and I got to throw my hat into the ring of trying to guess what the hell Ozpin's abilities are. Is it time dilation? Shields? Magic? He said his cane had some special abilities/tricks, so I guessed the bubble shield came from that whilst his semblance was time dilation. But hey, volume 6 is just around the corner; who's ready to play the "you were so wrong about x, y and z" game?!**

 **Keep it classy planet Earth (or at least, the English speaking parts of it).**


	28. Chapter 28 - Showdown

**Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, Faunuses and humans, bipedals and quadrupedals alike and whatever else is inbetween, I present to you the penultimate chapter of Sergeant Arc. This last year's stress levels have been shot through the roof because of this fic, I'm pretty sure I have permanent high blood pressure now thanks to you all, and I've lost count of all the hours lost to the abyss for this story.**

 **I wouldn't change a single minute of it for all the world.**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

" _There are so many stories where some brave hero decides to give their life to save the day, and because of their sacrifice the good guys win, the survivors all cheer, and everybody lives happily ever after. But the hero never gets to see that ending._

 _They'll never know if their sacrifice actually made a difference. They'll never know if the day was really saved. In the end they just have to have faith._

 _Ain't that a bitch?"_

 _Church, RvB_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Eight—Showdown**

Jaune Arc had seen horrors. He'd seen death and illness and rot. But never before, in all his life had he witnessed all three at once.

Until today.

He realised now that he'd been wrong about Salem: she wasn't a human-Grimm hybrid; she was a disease. A sickness, corrupting what was good and pure and twisting it into the abomination that stood before him, smiling.

Salem's eyes skipped over his section, black eyes scrutinising Naomi, Phil, Terry and Aiden up and down. "So these are the societal rejects you call your section. I must say, I was expecting a lot more from the group that managed to outwit Watts himself. Yet nonetheless, I am so glad you could make it. I have been looking forward to this day for a very long time."

"Mind games," murmured Naomi, just loudly enough for Salem to hear. "Attaching pleasurable sensations to uncomfortable situations to put people off guard. Assert that you're in control. It's psychopathy 101."

Salem cocked her head, studying Naomi. "Well aren't you a clever girl? Good. Clever people make the funniest faces when I kill them." Naomi pursed her lips and didn't reply. Salem turned her attention back to Jaune. "I have to ask, Mr Arc, what exactly is it that you hope to achieve? Assuming of course that you even beat me in the first place."

"We'll end the war," answered Jaune.

Salem knocked back her head and laughed mockingly. "Is that what you think this is? Kill me and the war ends, that easily? You are a fool, Jaune Arc. Even as we speak Vale is being overrun by my creatures, and Atlas is positioning its fleet to level the city. You have come here on a fool's errand."

"The men of Atlas would never destroy another Kingdom so wantonly," argued Aiden.

"The men of Atlas will do whatever their precious general tells them to, and that general will do whatever his queen orders. Your precious city will be nothing but rubble within the hour. It is almost a shame that you won't be able to see it."

"We can beat you," declared Terry. "It's five against one."

Salem smiled, and the glint in her eyes, like the gleam at the edge of a knife, terrified Jaune. "If you think that," she purred, and around her the shadows seemed to thicken, deepen, becoming more corporal, more alive. They twirled around her form, playing with the ends of her cape, reaching for the candles around the room as they snuffed them out one by one, "…then you are an even bigger fool than I thought."

Naomi screamed. Jaune whirled to her, but the sound had already cut off. A dark form had wrapped itself around Naomi's head, cutting off her face from view. It was somewhere between dark smoke and black slime, and as Jaune watched, it began to pulse hungrily. Naomi stood stock-still, her lower half unmoving as the parasite latched onto her face.

Phil yelped and rushed for Naomi, only for another creature to pounce onto his head too. Phil made to rip it away when he froze, paralysis jerking his body to a complete stop.

Jaune stared, shock making him slow to react. They weren't Grimm, though they were just as black. Rather, they looked like hands. Inhuman, giant hands tipped with claws, that latched onto his friends, and began to throb, as if absorbing something from their hosts.

Jaune whirled, only to see Aiden and Terry already succumbing to their own dark forms. It was only then that Jaune noticed each shadowy being wasn't independent, but merely the end of a tentacle-like structure, as if each creature made up a thread of webbing, stretching back to the hideous spider at its centre. Jaune traced these lines back to where he knew they'd emerge. Salem. Her face was alighted in sick joy, relishing his reaction, as if he were mere entertainment for her. She took one final moment to savour the scene, before she smiled at Jaune. "Sweet dreams, Jaune Arc."

Jaune threw up his shield, but the parasite was faster, clasping over his lower face before his arm had even begun its motion. He tried to scream, but the sound was absorbed into the black mess engulfing his jaw. He fought to breath as the mucus-like sludge slowly trailed up his face, absorbing him into its folds. The last thing he saw was a triumphant Salem before darkness stole his sight.

* * *

Jaune Arc opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a blinding ray of daylight striking his retina. He shuttered one eye and moaned softly, squinting with the other to make out his surroundings. He was in his dormitory at Beacon. It was daytime, warm light streaming through the open windows, allowing a refreshing breeze to permeate the room. For some reason, the room was sideways. Jaune felt the ground underneath his cheek, but it wasn't hard. It was soft, warm, delightfully enveloping. He was on his bed.

Jaune's vision widened, taking in the other inhabitants of the room. Nora was jumping on her bed, making 'sloth' noises as she did so. Ren was standing not far from her, trying to suppress a smile. Pyrrha was sitting on her bed, cleaning Miló and Akoúo̱, laughter dancing in her eyes as she observed Nora's antics.

Jaune remembered this moment. Their team had just returned from training, and Jaune, utterly exhausted, had promptly collapsed onto his bed and blearily watched the others though a half-closed eye. It had been such a mundane moment, so like countless others, but it had been one where he'd been truly happy.

In the memory, as had happened in real life, Nora fell off her bed, the look of shock on her face absolutely priceless. Pyrrha giggled into a gloved hand. Ren sighed and went to help Nora up, but he smiled the whole time. Jaune laughed along with them, his voice muffled by the pillow that swallowed his face.

Jaune couldn't help but feel like he was forgetting something, but he soon shoved those feelings aside. What was there to remember? He was with his team, his friends. He was happy. What could be wrong with that?

Pyrrha turned to him, that beautiful smile still on her face, and went to say something, probably asking if he was alright. Pyrrha was caring like that. Always putting others before herself. She was the best teammate anyone could ever have, and every day Jaune was reminded how lucky he was to have her as his partner. Pyrrha opened her mouth to say something—

—and vomited darkness.

Jaune cried out, trying to launch himself over the Pyrrha, but he found his arms and legs tied down to his bed. He twisted and pulled against the restraints, but they barely budged an inch.

He looked back. Pyrrha continued to puke the putrid black… whatever it was. Something between slime and mist, falling gloopily to the ground, then coiling around the floor and dispersing across the room, burning Jaune's throat as he inhaled and making his eyes bleed tears. As he watched, it began to change Pyrrha. Her flaming red hair became brittle and coarse, falling off her head in giant clumps. Her eyes became sunken and baggy. Her skin hung haggard off her bones, pale and wrinkly. In mere seconds, Pyrrha had aged into a centuries-old hag.

Jaune looked around the room desperately, and to his horror, he saw Ren and Nora befalling the same fate. Nora's body was convulsing violently, heaving against the vile mucus that flowed out her mouth, suffocating her, killing her. Ren was just standing there, clawing at his throat, his eyes locked on Jaune's, asking, pleading, begging Jaune to save him.

Jaune struggled with renewed desperation, but the hateful bonds seemed to feed off his anguish, scorching his skin as he fought to free himself. Within seconds, the pain in Jaune's wrists had become agony, but still he struggled. Still he was unable to save his friends.

And then Pyrrha spoke. "J… Jaune…"

Jaune froze. "Jaune…" Pyrrha croaked again.

Her voice, once so beautiful, was twisted and tortured, forcing its way around the thick gunk that clogged her throat. But she'd stopped struggling by then. "Why did you leave us, Jaune?"

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Jaune sobbed. "Oh god, Pyr—"

"You abandoned us," the husk of Pyrrha hissed, her eyes flaring even as the rest of her body decayed at a horrifying rate.

"No! I didn't abandon yo—"

"You left us to die. I _hate_ you Jaune Arc. I will always hate you," rasped the shadow that had been Pyrrha. Jaune shuddered as his best friend rotted before his very eyes, every word a sledgehammer to his chest. She hated him. She hated him. Hated him, hated him, hated him.

The burning of his wrists had become secondary to the pain in his torso, the raging beast shredding his insides as he struggled and wept and gave in to the darkness all around. He'd left them. He'd left her. They would never forgive him for this. She would never forgive him for this.

Jaune's vision dulled, the scene losing clarity. He seemed to be losing consciousness, slipping into the dark abyss opening up inside of him. He couldn't fight it, not when Pyrrha looked at him that way. His mind flung back, whizzing through snippets of memories. The first time he'd met Pyrrha whilst flirting at Weiss. When she'd found him in that tree in initiation and they'd become partners. When he'd last spoken to her, on that phone call. Had she hated him all that time? Hated him all along?

His mind seemed to be fading. Like water dripping through his hands, he struggled to hold onto the memory of the last conversation he'd had with her, but still he funnelled through it, searching for a hint of the hatred she must have felt for him. She'd called him a bumbling buffoon. Had that been a spiteful name? He remembered that moment well, even as the rest of the conversation seemed to fade into dust in his mind. He remembered it because that had been the moment… that had been the moment…

The moment she'd forgiven him.

It hurt. It hurt worse than any instrument of torture could, but Jaune battle through the haze in his mind and forced himself to look at Pyrrha. Really look at her. Not at her violated body, but her eyes. Those piercing eyes. Those eyes that should have been the emerald green of spring grass, of youth and joy and hope. Instead they were an envy green, blazing with hatred. True, unadulterated, loathing.

Those eyes weren't Pyrrha's. That thing wasn't Pyrrha.

Because Pyrrha had forgiven him.

The realisation coursed through him, burning away the fog that clouded his mind. He remembered everything: the war, Salem, the black blob on his face. This was all a trick, an illusion of Salem's. His friends weren't dying. And his friends didn't hate him.

"You're… not… real," he ground out, staring into those baleful eyes. Those wrong eyes. "You're. Not. Her."

The thing imitating Pyrrha screamed, the black gunk expelling from her body at an exponential rate, but still Jaune forced himself to look, forced himself to watch, to prove to himself that this was nothing but an apparition, a twisted approximation of real life.

He felt his arms pinned to the bed—no, to his sides. Frozen there by the paralysis of the parasite on him. He knew, somehow, that breaking that paralysis was the key to escaping this nightmare.

Jaune collected every ounce of willpower he possessed, pulling it into himself, storing it, feeding it, letting it build and build. Then, with a scream of fury that echoed from the deepest recess of his soul, he ripped his arms upwards, shredding the restraints holding them down. His hands flew to his face, feeling something squishy and sludge-like. His hands tightened around the creature he couldn't see but knew was there and pulled.

The next moment he sucked in a gasp of air: real, tangible air. He was back in Salem's castle, the black mess writhing in his hands. He hurled it to the ground and crushed the loathsome creature beneath his boot. It died with a wet squelch.

Jaune fell to his knees, feeling his stomach churn inside him. What he'd seen, what he'd been forced to endure… he was going to be sick. Going to puke all over the floor right there and then.

A flash of blue appeared in his peripherals. He rotated his head, eyes falling upon Naomi's worried face next to his. He just about managed to swallow back his sick to beg, "What the hell was that?"

"I don't know exactly," answered Naomi. "One of Salem's tricks undoubtedly. It tapped into our minds, using whatever we feared most to keep us imprisoned."

Jaune looked at her, confused. "Then how did you get out?"

Naomi didn't meet his eye. "My worst fear already came true," she said quietly. "She can't hurt me anymore."

Jaune shut his mouth, not knowing what to say. In the end, he didn't have to say anything, for at that moment a cruel laugh echoed throughout the chamber. Jaune and Naomi's heads snapped to Salem, Jaune's hands tightening on his sword. "Well done," she mock congratulated. "It seems you have stronger wills than most. Shame the same cannot be said of your friends." Salem indicated with a bone-white finger to Aiden, Phil and Terry, all three of which still had the face-suckers stuck to their heads.

Jaune gritted his teeth. Salem was playing with them. That was the only explanation for why she hadn't killed them all when they'd been vulnerable. She wanted to extend this fight, make Jaune and the others bleed before she went for the kill. Maybe he could use that against her.

"Get the others free," whispered Jaune to Naomi, turning his shield back into a sheath and holding his sword in a two-hand grip. "I'll distract Salem." Before Naomi had a chance to contradict him, Jaune attacked. Despite knowing nothing about Salem before a few days ago, Jaune was beginning to understand her somewhat—in a way, she wasn't so unlike the bullies Jaune had been forced to put up with all his life. For one, she had a massive power-complex: she didn't just need to be in charge, she needed to prove it, assert her dominance over others. She was also vindictive. She didn't just want Jaune to die; she wanted him to suffer. She'd promised to kill everyone he loved just because he'd tried to trick her over the radio. Not only that, but she'd let him and his section directly into the heart of her domain, just so she could kill them herself. She was willing to risk everything just to get revenge. Maybe that was because she was arrogant, maybe because she knew Jaune and the others were no real threat to her. But one way or another, Jaune was banking on the fact that Salem didn't want to bless him with a quick death as he threw himself at her. She wouldn't want to kill him yet.

He hoped.

Jaune rushed her, aiming to close the distance between them enough to get a few hits in. Salem's smile only widened. A shadow detached itself from the floor, becoming fully corporal as it swung towards him. Jaune's eyes widened and he slid to the ground, narrowly dodging the attack. He swung upwards, slicing deep into the thick appendage. Salem didn't so much as grunt. So damaging the shadows didn't hurt her. Fantastic.

Jaune leapt back to his feet and jumped at Salem, swinging his sword in a two-handed overhead strike. Mistake. A shadow, this one shaped like a freaking battering-ram, shot towards him. With no way to correct his airborne motion, Jaune took the tree trunk straight to his chest. Pain exploded across his front as his aura flared. He flew backwards, barely keeping his grip on his sword. He landed and rolled, just like Phil had taught him to do when he fell. It was supposed to make the landing softer and make it harder for his opponent to follow up with their attack.

It didn't work.

Before he could even get back to his feet, two more tendrils of darkness snaked away from Salem and grabbed his torso, pinning both his arms to his sides. Jaune struggled against his imprisonment as he was lifted into the air, but it was no use. He sword arm was being crushed against his hip, Salem leaving him no room to angle it to cut himself free. His left arm was similarly pinned down, though he could wriggle it ever so slightly.

Salem brought him up to her face, smiling cruelly. "When will you learn, Arc?" she tutted, as if she were a disapproving grandmother chastising a child. "After our little conversation, I decided to partake in a bit of research. You must understand, I have eyes and ears everywhere. Your transcripts into Beacon are spotless. In fact, a little too spotless. No doubt that was why Ozpin saw fit to terminate your stay at Beacon. How heart-breaking it must have been to know you'd failed your only dream." Jaune stiffened. She knew about Beacon. How much else did she know about him?

Down at his side, Jaune's left arm began to move.

"Then, instead of seeing when you were beaten," Salem continued, "you decided to enlist with the Valesian military. A fool's hope to keep your dream alive. Yet nonetheless, you managed to make a mess of that as well. Tell me, how big was your section to start with? How small is it now?" That shark's smile. She knew. Damn her, she knew. Jaune's left hand continued to squirm, wriggling closer to its destination. Salem pulled him closer, eyes like a panther sizing up its prey before a meal. "When will you learn, that it is your destiny to fail?"

"Screw destiny," growled Jaune, hitting the button on his sheath. His shield extended in a heartbeat, forcing Salem's tendrils aside just enough for him to slip out. He squirmed free, landing on the ground and swinging his weapon, aiming for Salem's thigh.

She moved, faster than Jaune had thought was possible, an arm of darkness whipping around to parry his blade. The sword cut deep into the cylindrical mass of black, getting stuck about half way through. Yet just before the collision, for the briefest of moments, Jaune had felt an instant of resistance.

Jaune stared at the tip of his blade. So did Salem. Right at the end of Crocea Mors, so small it might have been mistaken for a spot of grease, was a smudge of something black. Although it was the wrong colour, it looked suspiciously like blood.

Jaune's eyes drifted up, seeing the tear on Salem's dress. His eyes pried further, spotting through the torn fabric the tiniest drip of black blood trailing down Salem's leg, stark against the white canvas it painted. His blade had nicked her on its way across. He'd cut her.

He'd made her bleed.

Jaune yanked up his shield as three shadows grew spikes and speared for his heart. Jaune shuddered under the blow, the attack almost enough to crush him into the floor. He yanked his sword free and swung at Salem a second time, but she was done playing games. A wall of darkness smashed into his shield, knocking him off his feet. He slammed onto his back, eyes wide as two more shadow spears drove downwards towards him. He rolled, dodging one, but the other collided with his back, knocking the air out of him.

He might have died right there and then, at the mercy of Salem, had it not been for a gunshot echoing across the chamber. Salem stumbled backwards, barely having brought a shadow in front to block the bullet. More shots rang out, peppering Salem's shadows with sparks of light. Naomi had freed the others! Salem hissed, then wrapped herself within a cocoon of darkness, blocking out the world.

Jaune took the moment's respite for what it was. He rolled away from Salem, coming to his feet along one side of the table. His friends stood on the other side, laying down covering fire on Salem. Jaune vaulted the table to join them.

"Those appendages can be cut," Jaune explained. "But bullets seem to be absorbed by them. We need to change strategy."

"We could try distracting her," suggested Terry, eyes still glued on Salem's position. "Maybe some of us could lay down cover fire whilst the others attack her?"

Jaune nodded. It was as sound a plan as any. "Aiden, Phil, you keep her occupied. Naomi and Terry, you've got your blades?" In answer, Naomi extended her wrist blade, the teardrop-shaped weapon they'd taken from the stores at the Valesian base before leaving. Terry gulped but did the same. "Then you're with me on attack."

"I still possess this," Naomi offered, holding up the belt of grenades Bounty had given her.

Jaune thought about it. "Maybe we can—"

"I grow tired of playing games," Salem's voice boomed through the room, somehow amplified by the wall of darkness between them. The cocoon began to spin, rotating faster and faster, shadows hunting the ones in front as they became a whirling tornado.

Suddenly, the shadows exploded outwards, soaring through the room. They latched onto the rifles, tearing them straight out of the humans' hands, then snapped them in mid-air as if they were toothpicks. They came for Phil's weapon too, but he was too quick. With reflexes refined by years at Beacon, Phil spun away and launched his adapted weapon into the air. Aeron Wasp's motor immediately whirred to life, mechanisms and rotors that Jaune couldn't even begin to understand keeping the crank gun airborne. It whizzed through the room, chased by Salem's tendrils, weaving in and out of reaching appendages as Phil mentally guided it through the maze of shadows.

Jaune spun to face Salem, now emerged from her cocoon like some sort of hellish insect. Gone was the anger she'd temporarily shown Jaune at having cut her. In its place was cool distain, even boredom. Yet Jaune didn't miss the way her eyes flickered as Aeron Wasp continued to snake by her grasp time and time again. She held up her hands and more shadows leapt into the air, joining the hunt. She was distracted.

This was as good a chance as they were going to get.

"New plan," Jaune said. "Phil, keep her busy. The rest of you, with me!"

He raced at the occupied Salem, praying Phil could keep her distracted just a few moments longer. Salem glanced out the corner of her eye and spotted him, lazily waving a hand his way. A tidal wave of black slammed into him, throwing him sideways. He slammed into a dust pillar on the opposite wall and collapsed, his back screaming in agony. Turned out this dust was just as painful when you hit it as any other type.

He raised his head to see Naomi, Aiden and Terry continuing their attack, charging their enemy fearlessly. For a moment, they were the bravest thing Jaune had ever seen, facing down the devil herself, unbowing, unbreakable. They moved as a team, hacking and slashing at the tentacles snaking towards them, covering each other instinctively, stepping in and out as one being, one heartbeat.

It still wasn't enough.

They were soldiers, not Huntsmen. None of them had ever fought with a blade before, and that showed. They broadcasted their moves openly, they wasted energy in attacks, they left themselves open to counters with each step forward they took. And Salem was patient, studying their moves, learning their rhythms, luring them closer and closer until they stood ensnared within her nest of gnashing shadows.

Then she struck.

Terry went down first, a shadow snatching his ankle and dragging it out from under him. Two more struck like adders, only to be cut down by Aiden, who moved to protect Terry's form. Salem was expecting that. A lasso of darkness coiled around her wrist for a second, before snapping towards Aiden. Naomi shouted out a warning, too late. Aiden took the blow full on the chest, following Terry as the second casualty to end up limp on the floor.

Only Naomi remained, snarling at Salem as she ducked under one shadow and leapt another. A third shot straight for her heart, but she cut it down with barely a flick of her wrist. Naomi advanced rapidly, zigzagging closer to the witch, drawing her attention away from the downed Terry and Aiden, the former of whom was dragging himself painfully back to his feet.

For the briefest of moments, Naomi's ire matched even Salem's. She moved as a woman on her mission, eyes burning bright with determination, pushing inexorably towards the watching Salem, who hadn't even retreated an inch in all the fighting.

A burst of automatic fire from Aeron Wasp forced Salem to raise a wall of darkness, temporarily blinding her. Naomi took her chance. She bulldozed forward, slipping past shadows that reached blindly for her. Salem's black screen parted, only for Naomi to burst through it, weapon gleaming. Salem threw out a dagger of darkness. Naomi leapt onto it, using it as a springboard to leap at Salem's still form. She threw her arm out, blade shrinking through the air towards Salem's empty heart. Salem merely stepped back and held out her hand.

Naomi gasped, then immediately choked on that gasp as Salem's fingers latched onto her throat, her lunge having taken her straight into Salem's grip. Her body jerked to a stop, her momentum crushing her windpipe against Salem's grasping hand as her eyes bulged and her fingers scrambled at Salem's wrist.

"No!" screamed Jaune, lurching to his feet, only to be slammed into the floor again as a tendril of darkness held him down. He strained against it, struggling to push himself up, but he might as well have been pushing against a building.

Terry lunged for Naomi, blade reaching to cut her free. Salem cracked a whip over his head, barely gracing him with even a glance. Terry went down. Hard. Blood seeped onto the ground from where he lay. He didn't get up.

Naomi's blade flashed in the half light, winding back to cut into Salem's hand, when a black vine snapped onto her wrist and held it back. Naomi strained, her blade arm shaking violently but gaining no ground on Salem.

"Naomi!" shrieked Phil. Aeron Wasp spun in the air, locking onto Salem as it spat a dozen electric rounds at her. Salem didn't even flinch, shadows moving to cover her and Naomi like black wings. Even hidden from view, Salem knew where Phil was, his shout having given him away. A shadow lanced for him, forcing him to dive under it and abort his attack.

The black wings folded back, once more revealing Salem and Naomi. Except now Salem had a black tendril, tipped with a vicious blade, pointed directly at Naomi's chest. Everyone froze. The sounds of battle died immediately.

Salem's eyes locked onto Jaune's. She wanted them to see this. She wanted _him_ to see this. "You don't even have your aura unlocked," she noted dismissively as Naomi struggled, "yet you still fought me. Perhaps you're not as clever as I'd assumed." On the floor besides them, Terry stirred.

"My brother… died… because… of… you," Naomi hissed, her free hand prying at the fingers around her throat. Terry moved again, slowly regaining consciousness.

"I have killed many brothers," Salem informed her calmly. "And fathers, and mothers, and sisters." She looked at her trapped prey in her grasp. "What's one more?" Terry peered up blearily.

Just in time to see Naomi impaled by Salem.

Jaune Arc watched in slow motion as the shadow moved, reaching for Naomi's chest. It touched her torso, pausing for a nanosecond, though that felt like a million years to Jaune. Then it passed through her.

Or rather, into her.

Sound failed Jaune then. He was watching a silent movie, the thumping of blood in his ears drowning out every other noise, an endless tempo beating out the pace of the scene. Naomi's eyes went wide, as if in shock. Her mouth formed a perfect O. She looked down, seeing the way the tendril had burrowed into her chest. Then Salem dropped her.

Somehow, Jaune heard the thud as Naomi's body hit the ground. It was the loudest, most deafening, most world-wrenching sound he'd ever heard. That thud seemed to finally hit the play button on the universe, and all at once, sound flooded his ears, roaring down his ear canals and slamming into his brain. He might have been screaming. He didn't know. That sound was drowned out by Phil, screeching Naomi's name.

He snatched Aeron Wasp out of the air and launched himself at Salem, heedless to the danger. Jaune lost focus on him as Terry, ignoring the blood trickling from his temple, dragged himself to Naomi's motionless body and began pulling her away from Salem. She wasn't moving. Oh god she wasn't moving.

Aiden appeared in his view, cutting away the tentacle that crushed him into the ground. The part that Aiden had severed wriggled and writhed for a moment longer, before collapsing in a heap and decaying much like the Grimm did.

Jaune didn't even have time for thanks. He crawled towards Naomi's form, the stretch of floor between them stretching out into a million miles. Terry had dragged her under the table for cover and was desperately trying to apply pressure to her wound. That meant Naomi was still alive.

Jaune dragged himself the last few feet to Naomi's side. When he got there he almost couldn't bear to look. There was so much blood. Even despite Terry's efforts, it oozed out the wound in her chest, dyeing her combats crimson. Jaune desperately added his hands to Terry's, but it was no good. She was losing too much blood.

"The right side," Terry whimpered, eyes glistening with tears. "Salem went for the right side."

Jaune understood. Salem could have stabbed Naomi through her heart and killed her in an instant, but she'd intentionally allowed her to live for a few more precious seconds. Not out of compassion though.

Because she wanted to see him hurt.

Naomi looked up at him, large, brown eyes struggling to focus. Jaune was hit with a wave of Déjà vu, so strong it threatened to topple him over. Suddenly those eyes became Buzz's, staring into the sky as his life bled from him. Suddenly the wound became the bullet hole in Cole's chest, spurting blood at a rate that Jaune just couldn't stop.

Naomi coughed, blood spilling from the corner of her lips. Jaune panicked. He couldn't save her. Oh god he couldn't save her. It was happening again and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. He was about to lose another friend.

Aiden knelt beside him and held Naomi's hand in his own, but Jaune barely noticed. He furiously pressed his hands against Naomi's chest, as if that alone would staunch the torrent of blood. Tears burned his eyes, but he refused to remove his hands to wipe them away.

Naomi looked up at him. Her lips started moving, trying to form words. Jaune leaned in close, putting his ear to her mouth. "Tell… Cat… I'm sorry…" she whispered.

"Tell her yourself," Jaune wept. "You're going to be fine, just hold on."

Naomi smiled softly. They both knew it wasn't true. "I… I wi… wish…"

No. No. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. First Ash, then Cole, then Buzz, then Bounty and Finn, maybe even Cat. And now Naomi. Jaune had had to watch as he'd lost friend after friend after friend. Well no more. _No. More_.

Jaune pushed his hands against her wound—pushed _himself_ against her wound. Deep inside of him, something stirred. Jaune latched onto it, refusing to let it escape him. He flooded that thing with everything he was, his fears, his frustrations, his sorrow and his hope, everything that made him Jaune Arc. It moved again, twisting deep within him. Slowly, it began to slither through him.

Jaune had no idea what he was doing, but it felt right, so he kept doing it. He grasped onto the being, dragging it up into his arms. It was slow, sluggish, fat with disuse, but Jaune forced it onwards. His hands began to tingle, like pins and needles.

Naomi closed her eyes, heavy eyelids slamming shut on the brown light within.

And Jaune _pushed_ the presence into Naomi.

Naomi gasped, her eyelids fluttering open. Her chest was glowing, as were Jaune's arms. Aiden and Terry took an awed step back. "What is that?" Terry awed.

"I… I don't know," Jaune stammered.

"It is your semblance," Aiden realised. "You can heal people."

Jaune looked down at his hands, then at Naomi's wound. It was impossible to tell for sure in this light, but it seemed to be stitching itself back together, slowly closing up the torn flesh. The rush of blood had slowed to a trickle, almost coming to a complete stop. Deep within him, Jaune felt that being again, except it didn't feel like a solid object anymore. It felt like a river, flowing from his core through his hands and into Naomi's wound. A river that he could shape and direct. Except it didn't feel like a river of healing. More like…

"It's aura," Jaune breathed. He looked at the others. "I'm giving her my aura to heal her. That's what's happening."

"Can you turn hers on?" Terry asked excitedly. "Can you turn all ours on?"

Jaune tried. He focused his aura into Naomi's wound and beyond, searching for a second presence. He thought he felt something, like a well tunnelling down, down, down, quivering with some unseen energy. He reached for it but hit a wall. He tried again: nothing. He could sense it, but it was like pushing against a glass window. Naomi's aura was locked away, buried within the folds of her soul, and although Jaune could feel a part of it permeating outwards, he couldn't get to its source to open it up.

He shook his head. "I can't activate her aura."

"I would suggest focusing on healing her then," Aiden said.

"Go help Phil," Jaune ordered, "but don't get too close to Salem. I'll be fine here." Aiden and Terry nodded, extending their wrist blades and scrambling out from under the table. Jaune turned back to Naomi, only to see her eyes open, watching him.

"You saved me," she breathed.

"We're not out of the woods yet," Jaune replied, though he couldn't stop a smile from blossoming on his face. Naomi returned it. She was alive. That thought alone was enough to make Jaune sob with relief.

Jaune glanced over his shoulder, looking at the battle raging on without him. Phil was an absolute whirlwind; dodging and diving between shadows, using his weapon like a club to smash those he couldn't avoid out the way, spraying Salem with calculated bursts to force her to cover up and lose sight of him. Jaune almost couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away. It was easy to forget that Phil had been a Huntsman, at least temporarily, but the way he moved now was nothing short of incredible. Aiden and Terry helped as best they could, tearing through the smaller shadows that came too close but keeping their distance as per Jaune's orders.

"It's not enough," Naomi said. Jaune looked down at her. "None of this is working. Salem's too smart to be distracted and too quick to be killed. The only reason we're still alive is because she's toying with us."

"I know," Jaune whispered.

"Then what do we do, Sarge?"

Jaune scanned the room and the ongoing battle. He watched the blood from Terry's wound trickle down his head, gruesomely contrasting his pale complexion and dyeing his cheek a dark, dirty red; he watched as Aiden stumbled to the side of an attack, leaning on one leg more than the other, his tail limp, as if he didn't have the energy to support it anymore; watched as Phil ground his teeth together, chest heaving, sweat staining his skin in a thin sheen, gluing his combats to his figure as he went for yet another assault, this one slower than the last, more sluggish. They were about to reach the end of their abilities, about to hit that impassable wall of exhaustion that would leave them as little more than armed drunkards, lurching from side to side in a vain—and ultimately doomed—effort to evade death.

"We could run," Jaune murmured. Naomi glanced at him sharply. "You almost died, Naomi," Jaune explained quietly. "This isn't a game. If we keep going, Salem's going to pick us off one by one. At least if we run there's a chance of some of us making it."

Jaune stared downwards, unable to meet Naomi's eye. It felt like a betrayal, even to him. They'd already lost so much just to get here; to leave now would be to make Bounty's sacrifice in vain. But could he risk losing anyone else?

Naomi reached upwards and took Jaune's head in her hands, forcing him to look at her directly. "I knew there was a high probability of death when I came with you. I believed I was going to die just now. And I was willing to accept it. I still am. I am willing because I know this is our only chance of saving people. Salem will never stop being a threat so long as she lives; you know that as well as I do. If we leave now, she moves, and we lose our one opportunity. Then how many more Buzz's will die because we ran away?" Jaune shook his head. He didn't know. "I'm willing to give my life to do this. So is everyone else. We were willing to do that the moment we boarded the airship, and that hasn't changed. You make us willing. Now _you_ must be willing to let us do that. So I ask you again: what do we do, Sarge?"

Jaune turned his head, and if anyone had asked, he would have said it was to observe the room and not because his eyes had suddenly started stinging. When his voice felt strong enough again, he said, "Have you noticed that Salem doesn't move much. Her shadows are darn quick, but she rarely moves her actual body to dodge."

"Perhaps she's not so mobile," Naomi agreed. "Can we use that?"

"Perhaps… though it's not much use if we can't even get close enough to her to attack."

"Maybe we don't need to," hummed Naomi. Now it was her turn to strain her neck and look around the room. Her eyes narrowed. "The wall area is primarily glass. The panes aren't thick. That means the pillars are load bearing. If we could weaken them, we could bring down the roof." Jaune followed her gaze to the sentinel-like pillars dominating the room. The ones made of the unidentified dust type.

Dust.

His eyes widened. Naomi held up her belt of grenades. "Naomi, I could kiss you," Jaune enthused.

"Later. For now, let's focus on killing Salem. I think I can walk." Jaune gingerly backed up as Naomi eased herself into a sitting position. She seemed to glow for a moment longer, a golden halo illuminating her for a brief moment, before it faded. "I think you gave me too much aura," Naomi noted.

"Don't worry," Jaune grinned. "I have a lot." Though having said that, he did need to be careful. Just healing Naomi had drained him by about half. He wouldn't be able to do that again if it came to it.

Naomi edged her way to the side of the table and glanced out. "Plan?" she asked.

Jaune joined her. "Get the grenades to the pillars," he ordered. "Don't pull the pins yet."

"She's going to spot us if we're running around from pillar to pillar," Naomi pointed out.

Jaune considered it. "Salem wants me to suffer. Everything she's done has been to get to me. We can pass the grenades to the others, then you make sure they're planted." He took a deep breath. "I'll keep Salem occupied."

"I'll get to Terry and Aiden."

"I'll get to Phil."

Jaune stuffed three grenades from Naomi's belt into his pockets, then crouched in waiting until Salem's shadows next coiled around her, blocking her sight. Jaune pounced from under the table and rushed towards where Aiden, Terry and Phil were still battling Salem. As he went, he took out one grenade and rolled it towards a pillar. Most dust was explosive, but with a few notable exceptions, it wasn't necessarily volatile. It needed a large activation energy initially to set it off, otherwise simply carrying around dust would be like dousing yourself in gasoline. The kind of activation energy that would hopefully be produced in an explosion.

"Aiden, Terry, fall back!" he yelled, diving into the fray. His senses immediately narrowed, focused solely on staying ahead of the mass of swirling shadows knifing for him. He didn't even have time to see if Aiden and Terry had been able to disengage as he'd ordered.

Instead he leapt to Phil's side. Crocea Mors was a blur of silver as it sliced through a tendril trying to snake behind Phil. The red-armoured man spared Jaune a glance, before turning back to Salem. The two men fought back to back, bashing and slashing away the tentacles that got too close. Jaune twisted slightly, so that he could speak over his shoulder to Phil.

"Grenade in my right pocket. Take it—" Jaune threw up his shield as a shadow lanced for his face. It clanged against the metal, ringing out across the chamber, "—and put it on a pillar."

"You want me—" Phil paused as he grabbed a shadow, then threw it to the ground and unloaded half a dozen dust rounds into it, "—to what now?"

"Trust me. I've got a plan."

Phil glanced over his shoulder at Jaune, then shrugged. "You're the boss." Jaune felt his pocket lighten at the same time Phil threw his weapon into the air like a paper airplane, its motors whizzing into life. It swept through the air as Phil made a break for it, spitting dust at Salem to keep her distracted. Despite this, three tendrils still swept after his fleeing figure.

Jaune raised his shield and charged into them. Like a bulldozer, he slammed into the shadows, shoving them out the way. The plan worked, at least in so far as it stopped Salem from getting Phil. Unfortunately, it also left Jaune in a heap on the floor once the shadows dissolved into nothingness.

Jaune cursed as new ones latched onto his ankles. He cut himself free, only for more to reach up his legs and grasp onto him. Jaune was lifted into the air upside-down, more shadows latching onto his arms and preventing him from cutting himself free.

Jaune growled as he was brought face to face with Salem once again. Somehow, she still managed to look calm and collected, retaining an air of elevated indifference even now. Not a bead of sweat stained her brow and not a hair was out of place. You'd have sworn she'd merely sat down for tea and not fought off two soldiers and a trained Huntsman simultaneously.

She brought him close; close enough to smell the sickly-sweet scent of her, like rotting fruit. It twirled and entwined with the stench of brimstone and ash, plunging into his lungs with each gulp of air he inhaled. He was close enough to make out the darkness of her eyes: endless, consuming darkness, the kind that children hid from in the night, the kind humankind had made lights to temporarily keep at bay. The kind that would return one day to extinguish man.

"I grow tired of you, Arc," Salem dismissed. "You are proving bothersome."

 _Bothersome_. Because that was all he was to her. A bother. Not an opponent, and certainly not a threat. He was little more than a troublesome gnat in her eyes, buzzing incessantly in her ear. She would crush him at some point, maybe now. Indeed, the shadows seemed to be tightening around his limbs, increasing their pressure until he felt pins and needles in his extremities. To Salem, he wasn't even worthy of being killed in a fair fight. Jaune could have thrown every skill in the book at her and that still wouldn't have been enough. He couldn't win that way. Not by following the book. Not by playing fair.

Gentlemen's rules…

Jaune jerked forward and clamped his teeth down. Salem cried out in pain as Jaune bit down on her nose. It tasted disgusting, like spoilt meat, but Jaune didn't dare let go for even a second.

Salem flung her head backwards, cursing and spitting, but Jaune stubbornly held on. More shadows latched onto him, prying him off. A wet ripping sound tore through the air. Salem screamed and hurled him away.

Jaune landed hard, the impact slamming his head against the floor. He lay still for a second. His mouth tasted vile. He turned to the side and spat, expelling a white lump. He stared at it. It was part of Salem's nose.

He turned back to Salem. Black blood spurted out the hole where her nose should have been, but she didn't move to cover it up. She barely seemed to notice. Instead her eyes—those empty, endless eyes that seemed to gobble up the light— _blazed_ with hatred. Gone was the cool disdain. Gone the assured superiority. This was the true face of the monster.

And it was focused solely on Jaune.

And just when things couldn't possibly get any worse, the double doors to the chamber were thrown open, revealing Tyrian holding an unconscious Cardin by the hair. "Well, that was fun," he giggled, holding his stinger to Cardin's throat. "Who's next?"

Time was up. They couldn't beat both of them. Either Jaune's plan would work, or they'd all die.

"Get out the windows!" he screamed, holding up his shield to block Salem's view as he pulled out the last grenade from his pocket. He'd never gotten confirmation from Naomi that everyone had laid all the grenades, and there was no time to check. All he could do was hope.

At the end of the day, wasn't that all any of them could do?

His friends started running. Phil blasted at the windows, knocking out an exit for the others. Jaune pulled the pin out and tossed the grenade towards one of the pillars.

 _Five seconds_. That was how long Sergeant Cole had told him it would take for the fuse in a grenade to reach its end. Five seconds before the grenade exploded. Five seconds to get out of there, or die.

Fortunately, Salem didn't notice the grenade. Unfortunately, Tyrian did. "Mistress!" he screamed, pouncing forward.

 _Four seconds_.

Jaune darted past Tyrian. The Faunus didn't even seem to notice him. His gaze was focused fully on the live grenade rolling towards one of the pillars.

 _Three seconds_.

Jaune skidded to Cardin's side, grabbing the boy by his shoulders and hauling him along. He spotted the rest of his section leap out the broken windows into safety, but there was no way Jaune would make it in time. Cardin was just too heavy.

 _Two seconds_.

Jaune changed tack. He dragged Cardin's form out the door to the entry hallway, away from Salem's chamber, heaving him against a corner.

 _One second_.

Jaune threw himself onto Cardin. He glanced back into the chamber. Salem had enveloped herself in a ring of writhing shadows. Tyrian picked up the grenade, his eyes going wide as he beheld it.

 _Zero_.

The grenade exploded.

This wasn't a fragmentation grenade—on those, the explosion tended to be relatively minor. No, this was a dust grenade: it was stuffed full of highly volatile fire dust, of which even the very smallest of sparks could ignite. And when these exploded, they _exploded_.

A fireball blossomed around Tyrian's hands. Jaune watched with startling definition as it expanded, gobbling up the surrounding space in a matter of microseconds. Tyrian didn't even had time to open his mouth before he was enveloped by a birthing star. The supernova continued to grow, so bright it scorched Jaune's retinas to look at it. It reached outwards, sucking down anything it met.

Then the fireball touched the dust pillar.

Jaune didn't even bother looking this time. He simply threw himself over Cardin as the world exploded.

Heat erupted over his back. The ground shook. The shockwave slammed into him, almost throwing him off Cardin, but he clung to the boy underneath. More explosions rattled Jaune's teeth. The other grenades going off. For a moment it seemed the world was nothing but explosions and shockwaves, tremors and fire. Jaune clutched desperately to Cardin, futilely trying to shield the unconscious boy with his body. Masonry began to crack and fall, adding to the cacophony barraging Jaune. He pulled himself inwards, trying to make himself smaller as the very room fragmented around him. Giant rocks began to crash into the floor, mere centimetres from his body. Jaune felt cracks spiderwebbing underneath him, as if the floor was tearing itself apart. The air tasted of dust and fire, clogging Jaune's throat as he dragged in tortured breaths.

Without even realising it, Jaune's hands began to glow. He felt his aura searching for Cardin's, trying to get a gauge on how much of it remained. Cardin had been knocked out by Tyrian; his aura had never been broken. He still had about a quarter left, but Cardin wouldn't be able to use any of it to protect himself whilst unconscious. Jaune pushed his own aura into Cardin, gritting his teeth as the world fractured around him. Splinters of rock shot out and bit into Jaune's calves. He hissed but continued to force his own life-saving shield into Cardin.

A tortured groan sounded behind Jaune. He glanced around through eyes slitted against the frenzy of dust that had been kicked up. Above, cracks splintered across the ceiling. The cracks widened, opened, becoming gaping chasms that bled the red of the sky behind it. Jaune's eyes widened. He threw an arm over his head, the protection about as effective as an umbrella during a hurricane. The ceiling crumbled around him, showering him with rocks. A large one crashed against his head, tossing him to the side. He lay there, vision darkening, barely grasping onto consciousness as the universe collapsed on top of him. If he blacked out, his aura failed, he died. He fought to drag his mind away from unconsciousness, but he was so tired. So weary. He just wanted to close his eyes. He wouldn't fall asleep. Just… close… eyes…

* * *

Jaune coughed.

Once. Twice. It wasn't long before he'd dissolved into a fit of wheezing and hacking, his lungs straining to remove the gunk that had clogged his throat.

Jaune finally managed to get his coughing under control. He lay back, his head cushioned on a piece of masonry. His mouth tasted of blood. Everything hurt. But then again, that was probably a good thing. Pain meant he was still alive.

Jaune rolled onto his front, groaning as he did so. He patted himself down for injuries: a few minor cuts and bruises, but nothing too serious. His aura had lasted just long enough to save him from the worst of the collapsing roof. That in turn had probably sheltered him from any more of the explosions.

And damn, what an explosion it had been—far larger than anything Jaune had hoped or expected. His mind flashed back, seeing torrents of fire and solar flares of light. It was nothing short a miracle that he'd survived that demolition. Not much could have—

Cardin! Jaune scrambled to his hands and knees and frantically crawled towards where he'd last seen the larger boy. He had to slither over and under multiple beams of masonry, but eventually he reached Cardin's side. Jaune put two fingers to his wrist, feeling for a pulse. If Cardin was dead…

There! Jaune gasped in relief as he felt Cardin's pulse, strong and regular beneath his fingers. Pulling Cardin to the corner of the room had probably saved his life, seeing as it looked to be the only standing support out of the whole castle.

It was at that moment that Jaune heard someone calling his name. The others. They'd have realised he hadn't made it out and would have begun searching the rubble. Jaune dragged himself towards a crack in one of the slates of rock above him and called through it. A moment later he heard a reply, and soon multiple voices had joined the first.

A scraping sound ensued, along with grunts of exertion. Jaune helped as best he could, pulling away the looser rocks as his section began to dig him out of the rubble. Soon the crack had become a slit, just wide enough for a hand to fit through, then a fissure, then a hole, then an opening. The first face he saw, staring down worriedly, was Phil. Jaune smiled up at him and was about to accept his offered hand, when he remembered Cardin. He slunk back to the unconscious boy and dragged him towards the opening, offering him to Phil. With some difficulty, they managed to pull Cardin free of the wreckage. Soon after that Jaune followed, pulled up by Naomi and Terry.

"It's good to see you again, Sarge," smiled Naomi. Jaune was too tired to even reply. He just about managed to confirm that everyone was alright before his legs gave out under him and he sat down heavily on a mound of debris.

"Did… did we win?" Terry's voice was hesitant, as if worried the universe would take this moment away from them if he talked too loudly.

Jaune didn't reply. Instead he stared out over the destruction they'd caused. Where there had once stood a proud palace, now lay a heap of rubble. Maroon bricks littered the ground, shards of broken glass sprawled discarded in the dust. In places, individual pillars and support beams still stood, though even they seemed stunted and hunched, little more than disgraced shadows of what had once stood there.

Jaune saw all this, and barely felt anything. His mind was still reeling, still scrambling to catch up to what had just happened. Had they really done it? Had they really won?

From the ruins of the castle alone, Jaune would have guessed yes. But he wasn't about to take a guess as a definitive answer. He'd met a human-Grimm hybrid. He'd witnessed shadows become daggers and spikes. He'd held a dying woman in his hands and had brought her back to life. Jaune Arc had seen the impossible. He couldn't be sure that Salem was dead until he saw it with his own eyes and had confirmed, once and for all, that it was truly over.

So, with his limbs leaden weights on his body, he began to sift through the rubble.

"Uh, Jaune? What're you doing?" questioned Phil.

"I need to see her," he answered tiredly. "I need to see it with my own eyes."

He saw the others look at each other out the corner of his eye, but he couldn't find the energy in him to care. Let them think he was crazy. He needed to do this.

A warmth lay itself onto Jaune's shoulder, and when he looked up he saw Aiden standing beside him. "Then we will help you," he said.

From there, it wasn't long before the entirety of the squad was searching through the bones of the fortress. They laid Cardin in the recovery position a safe space away, then got to work moving every upturned stone and collapsed pillar. It was long. It was hard. The air warmed from an icy chill to a crisp coolness as the day wore on and the hidden sun rose higher in the bloodred sky.

Yet still Beta section worked, silent and determined. Jaune eventually found himself heaving against a section of roof that had collapsed inwards. Terry worked nearby, whilst the others were further away. There was something vaguely familiar about this area. Jaune looked around, trying to place it, but lots of rubble had been thrown outwards by the blasts, making it almost impossible to figure out where he stood in relation to what the castle had once looked like. Still, something tickled the back of Jaune's mind as he lifted up the piece of debris.

And a shadow lashed out and stabbed him, shattering the feeble remnants of his aura.

Jaune stared, wide-eyed, at the spear going through his stomach. His gaze travelled up the length of the black shaft until it fell upon his worst fear, rising out of the rubble like a demon from hell.

Salem.

Gone was her façade of calm. Dust and grime covered her, staining her white skin a dirty brown in places. Black blood oozed from several cuts, and the hideous hole in her face where her nose had been stood stark against her skin.

The tentacle through his stomach jerked forwards, dragging Jaune after it. Salem pulled him close, eyes burning with hatred. "You tried to kill me?" she spat. Her teeth were bared, as if she no longer cared whether they saw her for the monster she was. "Me?! I am a goddess! Who are you to try to kill me? You are nothing more than worms beneath my feet."

Jaune continued to stare at Salem. He tried to say something, but no words came out. His mind was numb. He couldn't think.

"Jaune!" screamed Terry. He leapt at Salem and sliced through the shadow holding Jaune. He fell to the ground, though he didn't feel the thud. He didn't feel anything at all. The pain of his stomach should have been unimaginable, but the only thing he felt was a numb, empty pit where Salem had stabbed him. Shaky hands felt at the wound, coming back red. Very red. Already there was so much blood staining his fingers, mixing with the hellish sky that backlit them.

He was dying. He knew it, even if he couldn't feel it. Breathing had become harder. He was struggling to grip onto thoughts in his head. He was going to die in a frozen wasteland and no one could save him.

Terry appeared in his vision, that brave fool standing between Salem and Jaune, as if he could stop her himself. Jaune's mouth opened, trying to form the words to run, to get out of here, but no sound escaped him.

Salem threw out a shadow, this one wrapping around Terry's throat. Terry gagged, eyes bulging as Salem crushed the life out of him. Jaune reached forward with a hand that didn't feel like his own, searching for Terry's leg, for what, Jaune didn't know. And he'd never find out, as Salem lifted the asphyxiating teen into the air, out of his reach.

Jaune blearily heard other voices shouting. Salem look around. She didn't even bother raising her hand as a tsunami of blackness exploded out from her. It slammed into the others, throwing them off their feet. More shadows extended away from her, pinning them all down. God, she was so _powerful_. Maybe she was right. They'd dropped an entire building on her and that'd barely kept her down for long. What could they possibly do against such a dark force of nature?

Jaune felt his vision blurring, each beat of his straining heart pumping more of his lifeforce out of him. It wouldn't be long now. He closed his eyes, images of his life flashing through his mind. His family: mum, dad, and all seven sisters. They would be wondering where he was. Wondering when he'd come home. And when, one day, a man in a military uniform showed up at their door with a yellow slip of paper, they'd wonder why. Why he'd thrown his life away. Why he'd chosen the world over them. He'd never get the chance to tell them that they were his world, that he'd done this for them.

His section: that group of introverts and weaklings that had somehow come together despite all their differences and do something incredible. Salem would kill them all here. None of them would be going home. No one would remember them. Salem would win, and no one would even be able to tell the world that they'd tried, that they'd done their best to bring down a goddess and had come close enough to brush victory with their fingertips.

His friends at Beacon: the first meaningful friends he'd ever had. Never again would he confer with Ren about homework. Never again would he hear Nora's bubbly laugh or watch her shenanigans. Never again would Yang call him vomit-boy, or Ruby give him those puppy eyes of hers, or Blake roll her eyes with a quiet smile at his flirting whilst Weiss gagged dramatically.

And Pyrrha… oh Pyrrha…

He couldn't stop thinking about her. His mind wouldn't stop bouncing back to those gentle eyes, that precious smile, her vibrant hair and her kind personality. He'd never get to experience those things ever again. Just when he'd mended the bridges he'd thought he'd burnt, Pyrrha would be ripped away from him for ever.

That hurt more than any stab wound ever could.

He opened his eyes again, his vision now blurred with tears. His section still lay around him, pinned to the ground, unable to move, unable to save him. Salem still stood above him, still choking Terry, whose pale face was rapidly turning blue. No more than a few seconds could have passed since Jaune had closed his eyes, but he felt a lifetime of regret at that moment. He tried to move, tried to get up and save Terry as a leader should, but his treacherous body failed him, managing only a pitiful grasping motion in his direction.

Salem looked at Terry, contempt marring her face. "You are the weakest among them, yet you dare to challenge me?" she demanded of him. "You are nothing. Nobody. You will die alone. Your name will disappear into obscurity. And I shall make sure that history remembers you as nothing more than the man who failed to kill me."

Terry's lips began working, though no breath escaped him. He was trying to say something, but Salem's hold on him made it impossible for him to speak.

Salem loosened her grip marginally, relishing an opportunity to tear apart whatever he had to say. Jaune fought to drag himself closer, to save him, to stop her, to do _something_.

Terry's eyes fell to Jaune, still lying on the floor, unable to do anything right. Jaune's eyes burned. He'd failed. He'd failed to kill Salem, and he'd failed Terry and the others. He should have been the one to die, not Terry.

Terry's lips parted, just enough air getting to his lungs for him to hiss, "Thank you for believing in me."

Then he opened his palm, revealing a lone, solitary pin.

He'd never placed his grenade.

Jaune cried out as fire erupted out of Terry pocket, vaporising him instantly. Salem disappeared within the ball of hellish fire a moment later, her scream of loathing ringing out for a second longer before it cut off suddenly.

Jaune gasped as fire blossomed above him, only to have his breath snatched away from him. The fire greedily gobbled down the surrounding oxygen, stealing it from Jaune's lungs as it washed over him. The moisture in his eyes evaporated, forcing him to close them. His skin burnt with an intensity Jaune had never experienced before. He would have screamed, except that he had no more air to scream with.

Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the fire disappeared. Jaune choked out a cough. Breathing hurt. His lungs felt like they were covered in soot. He painfully turned his head to the side, to where Salem and Terry should have been.

In their place was nothing but ash.

Tears brimmed in his eyes. Terry had kept his grenade, perhaps guessing they might need it. Or maybe he'd simply never had time to plant it. Either way, he'd sacrificed himself to take out Salem. To save the world.

He'd died a hero.

There was no consolation there.

Feet thudded against the ground. An instant later, he felt warm hands cradling his neck, pulling it upwards. Naomi, Aiden and Phil crowded around his view, their faces stricken. It took him a moment to remember why. His injury. He was bleeding. And judging by the looks of his section, it was bad. Very, very bad.

Naomi ripped off a piece of fabric from her shirt, desperately trying to apply pressure to Jaune's gaping wound. It wouldn't be enough. Jaune knew it. Naomi knew it.

"Hang on, Jaune," begged Phil. "You're gonna be fine. You're gonna be okay."

Jaune's breathing was shaky as he inhaled. It was becoming difficult to keep drawing in breath, to keep biting through that pain. Maybe that was why he didn't refute Phil.

Jaune looked up. His eyes focused on an ember, glowing brightly in the still sky. It was strangely beautiful. Cathartic, even, to watch it glide on the breeze. The ember dipped lazily, coming to land on Naomi's shoulder, but instead of burning the fabric there, it glowed golden for a second. Wait, the ember wasn't glowing.

Naomi's shoulder was.

It happened for only a millisecond, so brief that Jaune convinced himself it was just a hallucination on his behalf. Or at least, he would have done, were it not for Aiden spotting the exact same thing.

"Naomi, you still have some of Jaune's aura," he said excitedly. "If his semblance allows him to gift it to others, he might be able to take it back."

Naomi's eyes lit up. The group stirred, hope jolting through them. Naomi took Jaune's hand in her own. "Take it Jaune," she begged. "Take it back."

Jaune was finding it hard to concentrate. His train of thought kept slipping away from him. But he nonetheless focused, closing his eyes as he reached inside Naomi.

There was something there for sure. A presence that felt undeniably familiar, like looking at a picture of a younger version of yourself. That moment of recognition, even though it looked different. Jaune reached out to this presence, guiding it in towards him. Immediately, he was filled with that same, warming sensation he always got when his aura healed an injury. Like hot chocolate on a cold day, it seemed to push back the chill from his bones ever so slightly.

"It's working," breathed Naomi.

Jaune continued to pull on the aura he'd given to Naomi, but he soon realised the problem. "It's not enough," he whispered. And it wasn't. He'd only intended to give Naomi enough to heal her; the little bit extra she'd had was merely an oversight on his side. The aura that had been protecting Naomi was too small to heal him.

"Take mine," ordered Phil, taking Jaune's other hand. "If your semblance is aura manipulation, then you should be able to manipulate mine, right? It has to work."

Jaune stretched into Phil. He could feel the power inside, but this time it felt different, slightly alien. Whereas his had been like warm water willing to flow where he directed it, this one felt like thick treacle. When Jaune tugged on it, it at first resisted, then slowly began to seep into him. He was positive that if Phil hadn't let him take his aura, he wouldn't have been able to do this.

"Comeon, Jaune," encouraged Phil. Jaune pulled harder on both his sources, feeling his stomach slowly knit itself back together, threads of cells growing and weaving into each other like a quilt of skin.

It still wasn't enough. Phil had been fighting Salem as long as Jaune. Most of his aura had already been used up. Jaune felt the last of it suck into him. He glanced down at his still bloody chest, at the wound still open to the air.

"No," breathed Naomi.

"I'm… I'm sorry," said Phil, as if this was his fault.

Jaune laid he head back against Aiden's hands, closing his eyes. They'd tried so hard. They'd given everything they had. Maybe this was simply an unavoidable fate, the way things had always meant to go. Maybe destiny had had no plans of him surviving this battle. At least he got to die in the embrace of friends.

Broken glass tinkled nearby. Jaune cracked his eyelid open.

It was Cardin.

He scrambled across the debris-strewn battlefield, pulling himself up to their group. The larger boy reached them at last and, placing a hand on Jaune's shoulder, said, "Take mine."

Jaune didn't bother arguing or asking how much he'd overheard after regaining consciousness. He did as he was told. Whereas his own aura had been water and Phil's had been treacle, Cardin's was molten steel, burning hot and fast. Jaune pulled it into himself, feeling his stomach healing. Cardin still had a sizable amount in him, and all of this he offered freely to Jaune. Jaune took greedily, sucking it into himself like a desert-stranded man gulping down fresh water.

Within moments, the pain had retreated from his front. When Jaune looked down at the hole in his clothing, he saw nothing there but dried blood and new skin. There wasn't even a scar.

Jaune looked up. "Thank you, Cardin."

Cardin shrugged. "It was the right thing to do."

Jaune laid his head back down, somehow even more tired than when this whole thing had begun. But he couldn't help but trail his eyes back to the smouldering crater beside him. There was nothing remaining of Terry. Not even a husk of a body to bring back. He was gone.

"I hear a ship," Aiden suddenly said, perking up. "An airship. Look."

Jaune strained his neck to watch the horizon, and from it emerged an airship, just like Aiden had said. Phil jumped up and began waving his arms over his head. It seemed to work, as the airship began to slow down as it approached them.

"We did it Jaune," whispered Naomi. "We won."

Jaune looked to the desolation around them, then to the ship that would take them home, then to the members of his section. Or at least, the surviving members.

Four. There were four of them, including Jaune, when they'd left Vale with eight. This was all that was left of the eleven-man Beta section. This was all that remained of the friends Jaune had made. The tears he'd been holding back came rushing out of him, gushing down his cheeks as the dam broke and emotion flooded him.

Yes, they'd won.

But at what cost?

* * *

 **And that is it. Salem's dead. What the show RWBY couldn't accomplish in 5 volumes, I've done in 28 chapters. Boom. Suck it RT. And all it cost was killing all my favourite characters. Worth it?**

 **So yes, I did have to make up Salem's abilities, and yes, I did steal the face suckers who cause nightmares - though actually from lots of different places: Doctor Who, Alien (though I haven't actually seen that movie), hell, even Suicide Squad. I actually wrote that nightmare sequence way back for chapter 11, but it didn't really fit there, so I decided to move it here. Waste not, want not.**

 **I really don't know what else to say. This is it. There were times where I honestly thought I'd never make it, but here we are. The end. It seems so poet that just as this fic is finishing, volume 6 is about to roll out. One story ends, and another begins. Who knows, maybe you guys reading this will go on to write your own stories. I can't wait to read them all.**

 **And so, for the second last time, good morning, good evening, goodnight, and I'll see you all in two weeks for the last chapter of Sergeant Arc.**


	29. Chapter 29 - Where the Heart is

**Whoops-a-daisy, misjudged how long this one would take. Ah well, it's here now, and only slightly late. To all you lovely readers and fantastic people, I am proud (and a little sad) to give you the last chapter of Sergeant Arc.**

* * *

" _Never in the field of human conflict has so much been owed by so many to so few"_

 _Winston Churchill_

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Nine—Where the Heart is**

The pool was still. Placid. Not a ripple disturbed its glassy surface. The liquid was a putrid brown, reflecting the sheer white cliffs that circled it, trapping the foul water within the bottomless pit of snowy ceramic. A white boulder perched on the edge of the cliffs, its face pockmarked with cracks and crevices that crisscrossed the cube like scars. Jaune watched the boulder teeter, balanced precariously on the tip of oblivion. It tipped forwards, backwards, forwards again, before finally tilting too far, tumbling downwards in an endless fall, before it finally landed in the pool with a splash. Tidal waves were sent crashing outwards, reverberating against the cliffs and creating whirlpools of turbulence. The boulder bobbed there for a second, as if hesitant, before slowly, like a sinking ship, it was dragged below the surface, disappearing with barely a sound, to be replaced once more by the immobile body of liquid, as unending as the horizon itself.

"Mr Arc? Mr Arc, did you hear what I just said?"

Jaune blinked. His eyes peeled themselves away from the cup of coffee he'd be lost within, rising along the length of a green sleeve, before finally coming to a rest on the piercing brown of Professor Ozpin's concerned eyes. "Sorry sir, what did you say?"

Jaune was once more sitting in Ozpin's office at the top of Vale's CCT tower, the panoramic view of Vale sweeping around them and the steady ticking of the clock above them permeating the wide space. He was in the same chair he'd been in all those weeks ago when Ozpin had first suggested he join the military. How much had changed since then. How much he'd changed.

Rather than be offended that Jaune hadn't been listening to a word of what he'd just said, Ozpin merely smiled sympathetically, as if he'd fully expected Jaune to be lost within his own world after… well, everything. "I merely informed you that Atlas has rather rapidly pulled its forces out of Valesian territory and has attempted to open channels for peace talks to proceed. Thanks to Miss Nikos' and the students of Beacon's efforts, Vale is safe; Grimm activities have been at an all-time low; and this war is finally coming to an end."

"That's great," Jaune murmured, his words as lifeless as the drowning sugar cube he'd been watching.

Ozpin leaned closer. "You don't sound particularly thrilled to hear that the war is over."

Jaune grimaced. "I am happy sir, I just…" He grasped for the right way to say what he wanted. "It just cost too much," he eventually mumbled.

"Wars always do," sighed Ozpin. The professor removed his glasses and began to clean them on the green bandana around his neck, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. For the first time since seeing him on the podium all those months ago, Jaune was struck by how old Ozpin seemed. It wasn't just the white of his hair or the wrinkles around his eyes, though both seemed to have increased since last he'd seen the headmaster. No, it was the eyes that struck Jaune as old, those ancient, weary eyes that seemed to be always holding back so many memories. Just how much had those eyes seen?

"Professor," began Jaune hesitantly, "why did Salem start this war? What did she want?"

"The destruction of all that is good in this world," Ozpin answered, leaning back in his chair and replacing his glasses. "It has always been her goal—dare I say, her very nature—to return man to the dust. She has tried many methods over the years. I believe this war was her most recent, and perhaps most successful, attempt. Fortunately, it will also be her last." A small smile slipped out from Ozpin. "You've done mankind a great service by killing her."

"It wasn't me that killed her," Jaune replied, feeling that cold pit in his stomach open up again. He'd already explained to Ozpin what had happened when he'd gone to finish Salem, yet he'd done so vaguely, only naming the main events, never the specifics. The memories were still too raw for that. "What now?" Jaune asked instead.

"Well, I suppose that is up to you. If I'm not mistaken, Mr Winchester has already spoken to his superiors in the military, rather loudly I might add, that you and your section are to be forgiven for deserting your post on the grounds that you were under orders from a member of the Council of Vale to do so."

Jaune looked at Ozpin, confused. "But, we weren't."

"No, you weren't, but they don't know that, and the council member in question is more than willing to lie in your favour."

"Who's the council member?"

"Why, myself of course."

Jaune smiled. It was good to know that Ozpin had his back. "So I can go back to the military then?"

"If that is your wish. However, there is one other avenue I believe you ought to consider." Jaune's eyebrow rose inquisitively, until Ozpin placed a single, crisp sheet of paper in front of him, and he caught sight of the Beacon insignia in the top right-hand corner. His eyes trailed down the page, spotting a dotted line at the bottom, underneath which was written the word 'signature'. His eyes widened. "I believe you have more than proven your capability. There is a place at Beacon for you, if you so wish it."

Jaune stared at the sheet of paper before him and all the promise it brought. For the longest time, this was the only thing he'd ever wanted, enough so that he'd lied and cheated his way into the school. All he had to do was sign the document now, and before he'd know it, he'd be back in school with his team, sleeping in Oobleck's classes or doodling in Port's. He'd get his shot at being a hero again. A shot at doing his dream. His hand twitched towards the pen on Ozpin's desk, his fingers reaching for the stylus that would change his life.

But then he paused, his hand hovering uncertainly in the air, before retreating back to his side. Yes he'd complete his dream, but it would mean leaving his section behind. Could he really do that? Just turn his back on them after everything they'd been through together? But didn't he deserve this, after everything he'd been forced to endure?

"Think on it," Ozpin offered, seeing his uncertainty. "A decision as big as this should be given sufficient time to dwell on. But be aware that the longer you wait the more lessons you will fall behind on. I will expect an answer from you by the end of the week. You may go now."

Jaune nodded gratefully, standing up from his chair and making his way to the lift. His mind was a maelstrom as he pressed the button for the ground floor, thoughts chasing each other around and around. He bit his lip as the doors shut, and the elevator began its descent back down to Remnant. He had no idea what he was going to do about Ozpin's offer. For now, he just wanted somewhere quiet where he could be alone with his thoughts. He knew just the place. The elevator pinged, the doors parted, and Jaune stepped out into the sunshine, his destination brimming in his mind.

He was going to the graveyard.

* * *

Ozpin remained seated, watching as the doors to the elevator slid shut, closing the troubled teen inside. He remained that way as the number on the top of the elevator ticked down, tracking the descent of the lift. It was only when the display of red dots finally showed a G that Ozpin released the breath he'd been holding, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them on his bandana again. They were spotless, and he knew it, but he found the action to be surprisingly comforting in its mundanity.

Once finished with the reassuring circular motion, Ozpin put his spectacles back on, then stood up and strode to the window behind him. He stared outwards at a city still reeling from the shock of what had just happened to it, yet nonetheless trying its best to claw its way back to normality. It was a testament to the people's resolve, not their weakness, that they fought so hard to bring back that shred of comfort that came with what was ordinary. Ozpin didn't despise them for that desire, however naïve it might have been. He had set up the Huntsmen academies specifically to allow the people to continue to live their sheltered lives, safe from the monsters outside. So long as there were protectors to enable that lifestyle. But now…

Ozpin looked down at the hand holding his mug of coffee, at the slender fingers that curved around its handle. Deft despite his age, calloused despite his occupation as a teacher. Deep down, somehow, he knew these would be the last fingers he'd ever have. Salem was dead. His punishment from the gods was over. This life would be his last. The realisation should have brought him relief; hadn't that been all he'd ever wanted? To be free from his curse? Yet now that he was here, he found himself afraid. Death, once a concept so abstract, was now breathing down his neck for the first time in centuries. His own mortality was not what scared him though; it was what would happen once he was gone.

Without him, who would be left to continue to protect the civilians' way of life? Who would fight and bleed and die, so that they might live in comfort and ignorance. Who would lead the next generation of heroes?

Movement caught the corner of Ozpin's eye. He glanced downwards, way, way down to street level, just in time to spot a blob of blond hair pass beneath him towards the bullhead launch pad. For a moment, Ozpin could only stare at the figure trudging across the Beacon quad. Then he smiled to himself, brought his mug up to his lips, took a long draught of coffee and returned to his seat.

There would be heroes in the next generation. But more importantly, there would be leaders for them. His long and weary watch over the world was finally coming to a close. Now he had to trust that someone else would take up the torch that kept the darkness at bay. The only thing he could do now was prepare them for that immense responsibility.

So it was with that thought that Ozpin settled down at his desk, mug in one hand, pen in the other, and began to work through a large pile of paperwork. He still had a school to run, after all.

* * *

Spotless white filled her view. White walls, white floor, white ceiling, even white light shining down on her from white lightbulbs held within white fixtures. It was one thing Bea wouldn't be missing, she thought to herself as she strode through immaculate hallways and past pristinely-kept doors. That and the meals. You'd have thought Atlas could have at least bothered to provide decent food for their army.

Bea sighed. She was stalling. Allowing herself to get caught up in all the memories of the place she'd spent the last two years of her life in. It was perhaps understandable, given what she was about to do, but unprofessional still.

So, allowing herself only a single moment to run a hand through her electric blue hair, she rose to her full height and marched the rest of the way to the new General of the Atlesian military's office.

When she arrived there however, it wasn't the general she first saw, but a familiar, overexcited, ginger-haired teen. "Salutations, Miss Bea!"

"Good afternoon, Penny," Bea smiled. What could she say; the girl had grown on her. "It's good to see you again."

"Likewise. My father is inside with the General now; he shouldn't be too long."

"Not to worry, I can wait," Bea assured her. "How've you been?"

"Well, thank you. Now that Watts is no longer general, my father has been free to come home and work on more of his projects. He has been in a much better mood. He's even promised that I can visit Vale now that the hostilities have died down. I have always wanted to visit the Kingdom. I wonder if I will be able to make any new friends over there."

"It's nice," agreed Bea. "Definitely warmer than Atlas. I'd warn you to be careful in Vale, but it's pretty clear you can look after yourself." At this, Penny blushed a deep crimson.

Just then, the door to the General's office swung open, and out walked a rotund man with a white beard. He smiled at Penny, before turning his warm eyes to Bea. Bea was immediately struck with how grandfatherly the man looked—the sort of man children would crowd around by a warm fire on a winter's evening to hear stories of faraway Kingdoms and forgotten adventurers.

"This is Miss Bea, father," Penny excitedly informed him. "She's the woman who fought Watts."

"A pleasure to meet you," the man smiled easily, bowing his head slightly. "That man was a true menace, and a dangerous one at that. I can't thank you enough for bringing him to justice." Bea accepted the gratitude with a nod. "I can see you're waiting to speak to the General. I shan't keep you waiting. Come along now, Penny." And off they two of them went, the man taking long, heavy steps, whilst the girl bobbed along besides him, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she chatted excitedly with her father. Bea couldn't help but smile.

Reminding herself of why she was here, Bea turned back to the metal door in front of her and knocked twice, before stepping back and awaiting permission to enter. "Come in," came a stern, feminine voice. Bea took a quick breath to still her thrumming nerves, then pushed open the door and strode in, giving herself no more time to second-guess herself.

General Schnee sat behind a large, curved desk laden with papers and forms. Her hair was pulled back into its standard bun, and the general uniform she wore seemed to shine with unquestionable seniority. Bea had to admit, rather begrudgingly, that the uniform fitted Winter well—very well in fact. She supposed that giving orders to other people was probably second-nature to her by now.

"Commander Blitz," greeted Winter, putting down the pen she'd just been using to sign some form or other and indicating the seat across from her, "to what do I owe the pleasure?" Bea remained standing. She didn't intend for this to take long.

After they'd imprisoned Watts, the following days had become a blur of rapid activity. The two women had done what had never occurred in the entirety of Atlas' history: they'd overthrown their general. No one had known what was happening. The moment Bea had imprisoned Watts and Winter had denounced him as a traitor to Atlas and the world, a power vacuum had been created. Watts had still had lots of allies, many of whom shared his belief that the war was justified. Any number of scenarios could have played out, from Watts being released, to him being succeeded by someone just as bad, to the collapse of the entire Atlesian military.

Or at least, it might have done, had one person not stepped up to plug the vacuum Bea had created. Winter Schnee. Bea had to admit, the woman was good. She'd known exactly who'd needed persuading, who'd needed threatening and who'd needed imprisoning. She'd used the very same emergency powers which had given Watts such autonomy to secure herself as head of the Atlesian military, then to pull out of Vale and retreat to Atlas, where she'd called for an immediate cease-fire. The Council of Atlas had been livid, not least of all, as Bea had come to learn, Winter's own father. Yet with the military on Winter's side, there was nothing the Council could do. She'd all but made them her puppet, and Bea had heard rumours that she even intended to depose the lot of them and replace them all with fresh council members. Bea had been the one to end the old order of things in Atlas; but it would be Winter who'd lead in the new age.

There were those who still whispered fervently of the Tyrant Schnee; of the traitor who had stabbed Atlas in the back right at their moment of triumph, who had violently and forcefully upended the great leaders of Atlas and placed herself on the throne of their bones. There weren't many of them, however. Very few people had welcomed the war, and fewer still had had much love for the Council, corrupted and privileged as it had been. Winter was ushering in a new chapter in Atlas' existence, and although change was scary, it was also necessary. And if anyone had asked Bea, she would have told them that there was no one better suited to the immense task than Winter Schnee.

And as for Bea? Well she'd been happy to simply fade into the background once more, allowing Winter to take on the immeasurable mantle of responsibility that came with general. By the time Watts had been arrested, she'd simply wanted to go home. And by home, she didn't mean Atlas.

"General Schnee. I've come to resign," Bea stated. She'd thought long and hard about this decision, and although it destroyed her to leave behind such a huge part of her life, she knew she couldn't stay here anymore.

Winter glanced up sharply, and Bea could have sworn there was rebuke in those icy eyes. "Now why would you do that?"

"I don't believe it's right for me to remain in the Atlesian army," Bea informed her. "Some of the men still see me as the foreign traitor who overthrew their leader. There isn't a place for me here. I feel it would simply be best if I just left."

Winter studied her from across the table. "Why else?"

Bea paused at the question. "What do you mean?"

"That's not the only reason you're leaving. You are many things, Blitz, but a coward is not one of them. You would not be running from names and faces."

Bea sighed. Nothing got past Winter. "I need to return home. To Vale I mean," she clarified when Winter opened her mouth to point out that she _was_ home. "I… I've been gone for too long."

Winter regarded her curiously, as one might a piece of abstract art. "Your brother… the one you told me about… he's in Vale, is he not?"

"He is." Winter hummed, drumming her fingers on the desk. Bea was finding it increasingly hard not to squirm under Winter's interrogative gaze. She didn't know why. Winter had looked at her with disdain more times than Bea could count in the two years she'd been here. Yet now something had changed. Now… now Bea felt an odd sense of shame at Winter's look. As if she were letting her down. "So may I leave now?" she asked.

"No," stated Winter.

What? "I… I beg your pardon?"

"No. I reject your resignation. You do not have permission to leave."

Bea stared at Winter, hardly able to believe the words she was hearing. "With all due respect, general, you can't stop me."

"With all due respect, _commander_ , I can. Technically speaking, Atlas is still at war. That means I have the right to conscript troops into active service. Failure to comply with said conscription for non-conscientious objectors is an offense that will lead to being court-martialled and arrested."

Bea was flabbergasted. Winter was actually trying to trap her in the army. Just who did she think she was? "Why do you even care what I do?" she demanded.

"Because," Winter sighed, seeming to force the next words out between her teeth as if they caused her physical discomfort, "despite how much it pains me to admit this, you're a good soldier, Blitz. Not just in terms of ability, though that is unquestionable, but morally too. It was you who convinced me to do the right thing and move against Watts. Without you, I would not have had the courage to do so, and countless civilians' blood would be on my hands."

"So I'm to be your moral compass?" Bea snapped.

"Among other things. Adviser to the General, for one. I would consult you on any major matters of national or international importance, and you would help me to find the best course of action."

"We're too different," warned Bea, "we'd argue on everything."

"I'm counting on it. The last thing I want is more yes-men. Goodness knows I've had enough of them in the swarm of sycophants that seem to follow me wherever I go."

"And what if I refuse to help you?" asked Bea, crossing her arms. "You can't make me take this position."

"No, I cannot. I can only ask." Winter's voice had become quieter, and to Bea, it might have even sounded sincere, for just the briefest of moments. "Bea, please. All my life I've been surrounded by people who would sell their own daughters to become more powerful. I…I fear I'll follow them down that path without even realising it. I want you here with me, because I know you're one of the only people who will stand before me, look me in the eye and tell me what I'm doing is wrong if it's so needed. You claim there's no place for you here; well I'm asking you to take a place beside me."

Bea hesitated. She was torn, she really was. Winter had always seemed like such an independent figure, the sort of person who could take on the world and win if she so wished, that to image her admitting she needed help was incomprehensible. Yet here she was, asking Bea of all people for aid.

"And what about my business in Vale?" she questioned hesitantly.

"I believe some holiday is more than deserved considering your recent endeavours on behalf of the good of Atlas. Consider yourself on indefinite shore leave, until otherwise requested to return. You may travel to Vale; I'll even provide you transport, a commodity I hope you realise is rare considering recent tensions between the Kingdoms. I'll expect to see you back in this office in no later than three months' time, ready to return to active duty. That should be long enough to fulfil whatever business you intend to perform in Vale. Besides, currently the only major matter to attend to is hammering out a peace deal, something I am more than capable of seeing to myself."

Bea paused, suddenly curious. "How are the negotiations going?"

"Poorly," stated Winter matter-of-factly. "Vale is attempting to wring every last drop they can from Atlas: insurmountable reparations, limitations on the amount of dust we can trade and the price we have to trade it at, massive disarmament of our military to nothing more than a ghost of its former glory. They want to cripple Atlas so that it can never rise to its same level of prominence again."

"The people of Atlas will despise that forever," Bea warned. "There'll be another war within fifty years if you accept that."

" _If_ I accept that," Winter drawled.

Bea raised an eyebrow. "You've no intention of giving in to them, do you?"

"Absolutely not. A few reparations for damages is as far as I'm willing to go. Vale has no real leverage here, and if there's one thing I'm very good at, it's getting people to agree with what I want." Bea smiled. She had no doubt that was absolutely true. "But back to the matter at hand. Those are my terms; do you accept them?"

"I don't suppose I have much of a choice in the matter, do I?"

"No, you do not. Do you accept them?"

Bea eyed Winter. Winter stared back evenly, both command and plea visible in her eyes. "Six months," Bea ground out.

Winter cocked her head, considering her preposition. "Four."

"Five."

"Done."

Bea sighed. "Then I accept your terms."

"Excellent," said Winter, leaning back in her chair and just about managing to reel in the triumphant grin Bea knew she wanted to reveal. "I expect to see you in five months' time." Bea got up and began to head towards the door. "Oh, and Blitz," Winter added. Bea turned back to face the general, noting the smug smile adorning her lips. "Do be sure to dye your hair before we meet again. If I see that ridiculous colour again I'll personally see to it that it gets shaved off."

Bea left the room with a scowl marring her face, her mind awhirl with treasonous thoughts of how she was going to beat that pretty Schnee face into a pulp. Just who did Winter think she was? She had no right to order Bea around like that. No right.

Despite herself, she couldn't stop a small smile from creeping onto her face, splitting her frown like the façade it was. Some things never changed.

* * *

 _Terry Hulett_

 _Pvt_

 _Valesian army, Beta section_

 _2_ _nd_ _December 60—18_ _th_ _November 79 AGW_

That was it. The gravestone was like any other in this field of white limestone: short, rectangular, with the words printed neatly and evenly, it sprung from the ground like a budding plant, one of a hundred shoots growing from the grassy field Jaune stood in. The war had claimed thousands of lives; the government had needed a quick solution to the mass of fresh bodies it found on its hands. Hence the graveyards. Dozens had sprung up, all in different locations, all exactly the same, rows upon rows of neat, uniform gravestones dotting the green of the gently rolling fields, just like the one before him now.

Jaune hated it. It stank of conformity. There was nothing special about this particular gravestone compared to all the others; nothing to mark how special the person inside the grave had been. A white slab: that was all that was left of Terry. That was all the world would ever know of him, and as wind and rain and time gradually wore away the writing on the stone, even that would be lost.

But not for Jaune. For Jaune, he would always see the eager face, the pale skin, the blond curtains, eternally greasy after their distance from civilisation, the tall body and lanky limbs. Even to the day he died, he swore he'd remember his friend, and what he'd given up to save Jaune's life.

He didn't know how long he stood there, staring at the white chunk of rock, but eventually he felt a presence behind him. He didn't need to turn to know who it was. "Y'know, I never took you to be the brooding type," Phil informed him, "but right now you could give even Ash a run for his money."

Jaune huffed a quiet laugh, turning to find Phil and Aiden watching him. For some reason, Phil had a backpack slung around his shoulders. "Sorry. Just… lost in thought."

"That is understandable," accepted Aiden. "No one would deny you the right to mourn after everything that has occurred."

"Yeah, mourn…" Jaune glanced back at the headstone, the only memorial to a hero. There was no body buried here—that had been incinerated in the blast that had killed Salem, but Jaune still liked to think of this as Terry's final resting place: a green field in a peaceful corner of the city, where birdsong fluttered on the air and the wind played with the tree branches. It was better than where he'd actually died. "Where's Naomi?" he asked his companions.

"She is visiting her brother," Aiden answered him.

"Oh, is he…?"

"Buzz is buried here too. As are Ash and Cole as far as I am aware."

"What about Cat, Finn and Bounty?" Jaune asked, voice tight. Those last three members of the squad that had been left behind before the fight with Salem.

"See for yourself," smirked Phil, indicating the path back the way they'd come. There, rattling down the slight incline of the gravel footpath in a wheelchair screaming for mercy from the weight upon it, was Bounty. His body was jostled around like a ragdoll as stones collided with his wheels, causing his beer-belly to bounce majestically and turning his face bright red as he spat obscenities about slowing down to the person pushing him. The person in question was Cat, slinging back a stream of colourful curses about losing weight instead. The whole scene was regarded by Finn, bent nearly double and cackling heartily as he watched Cat and Bounty's antics.

An easy smile escaped Jaune, blooming over his face. He could still remember the shock, followed by the immediate relief when Cat had appeared in one of the bullheads they'd taken to Salem's domain, Bounty and Finn cut, bruised and bleeding in the hull, Bounty unable to even walk with his shattered leg, but grinning nonetheless, alive thanks to Cat's foolhardy flight directly back into the swarm of Grimm to rescue them.

The trio finally reached them, Cat and Bounty's argument immediately forgotten as they grinned at their squad mates. "We finally get some holiday for the first time in months, and you go and waste it all in a graveyard," chided Cat.

"Just spending a bit of time with Terry," Jaune smiled at them.

"Nah, Terrier's spirit wouldn't be wasting time in a cemetery," countered Bounty from his wheelchair, a blanket covering his casted leg. Jaune suspected Bounty would have been able to walk with crutches but had intentionally chosen a wheelchair. Anything to get out of more work. "I bet he's already back at the base, getting cuddly with whoever holds the highest command."

" _Whom_ ever," Naomi corrected, appearing besides them.

"Oi, Miss Victorian, no grammar lessons please," Cat mock chastised, grabbing Naomi around the waist and bumping their hips. "We're on holiday, remember? Besides, I can speak proper anyway."

"You can speak proper _ly_ —" Naomi began, exasperated, only to catch the mischievous sparkle in Cat's eyes. "I hate you so much."

"Well wherever you are, Terrier, I hope it's better than this shithole of a planet," toasted Finn, pulling out a can of beer and cracking it open with a hiss, before tipping a sizable amount of liquid onto the grave. "Who knew you had the biggest balls of all of us?" Cat coughed menacingly. "Second biggest," Finn rectified.

"I, uh, I'm pretty sure Terry didn't drink," Phil warned them.

"Then he best start making up for it now," grinned Bounty, opening his own can and mimicking Finn's actions. "Here's to you, you skinny little prick. Hope the afterlife still has seniority figures for you to suck up to."

Jaune smiled, even as his mind zoned out the further comments of his section, each one commemorating Terry in their own, abstract way. To the outsider watching them, the comments they made would have been seen as obscene, utterly disrespectful, but since when had that ever bothered any of Beta section. And maybe, just maybe, somewhere out there beyond the world he knew, Terry was watching them too, smiling.

Slowly, Jaune became aware of someone watching them. He turned his head, and there, standing at the gate entrance to the cemetery, was a dark-haired woman. She looked vaguely familiar to Jaune, though from this distance he couldn't make out any details. What he did make out though, was a slight protrusion of her belly, like a small bump. "Finn, is that—?"

Before he could get any further, Finn had swept past him, his fast pace becoming a jog, before increasing to a full-on sprint. The woman began to run towards him too, arms open, smile wide. The two met mid-way, both their arms coming around to envelope the other in a cocoon of warmth and love, each unwilling to let the other go. Finn had his eyes closed, a blissful smile playing on his face, all his worries and concerns melting away under the embrace. It was the happiest, most carefree Jaune had ever seen Finn, and for a moment it was all Beta section could do to watch the happy couple, the epitome of love and purity.

Then Bounty had to go and ruin it. "She's a seven out of ten at best."

Bounty's head made a resounding _crack_ as Cat's hand collided with it, causing Bounty to howl in pain, clutching at the bump that was visibly forming on his scalp.

"Abuse! Abuse! You're beating up a cripple!"

"Oh please," Cat rolled her eyes. "The only thing crippled about you is your mental capability."

"Nah, you love me really," smirked Bounty.

"I most certainly do not," replied Cat, indignant.

"Sure you do, or else you'd have left me to die in that hole."

"Don't flatter yourself. I was happy to let you rot in that hellscape, except Jaune ordered me to pick your sorry arse up."

"I didn't," piped up Jaune.

"Maybe it was Nuke then."

"Nope," chirped the person in question.

"It was probably Terrier in that case. Shame he can't confirm it for you guys."

"Would you like me to take his wheelchair then?" offered Aiden, reaching over to take it out of Cat's hands.

"Don't touch it!" hissed Cat, hands tightening on the handles and knees bending in readiness of an attempt to steal her treasure, a lynx protecting its brood. Aiden merely smiled innocently, but it was the twinkle in the wolf Faunus' eyes that gave away the true intention of his question. The group laughed heartily as Cat attempted to backtrack spectacularly, before giving up and resigning herself to shoot daggers from her eyes at Aiden.

The group was so preoccupied ribbing Cat that they didn't notice Finnegan approaching, leading his wife by the hand towards their group. It was only when Finn was once more standing by the section that they finally turned to face him. "Guys, this is Jasmine."

Jasmine was a short, fragile-looking woman, with olive skin and pretty, long, dark brown hair, styled in a braid that trailed down her back. She seemed shy, half hiding behind Finn, but she smiled prettily at them all nonetheless. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. Finnegan's already told me so much about you."

"Nothing good I bet," muttered Cat.

"Only the truth," insisted Finn.

"So nothing good," concluded Naomi.

Finn introduced each of them in turn, but when he got to Bounty, something unexpected happened. Jasmine suddenly turned to Finn, asking excitedly, "Is that the one? Is that him?"

"It is," answered Finn, smiling.

"What?" questioned Bounty. "What about me?"

Finn looked at Jasmine for a moment, some unheard conversation going on between the two of them, then she nodded slightly, and Finn turned back to them. He put his arms around his wife, hands falling protectively onto the bump on her stomach, before looking Bounty directly in the eye and saying, "We've decided to name him Magnus."

Several seconds passed in silence, Finn and Bounty's eyes locked onto each other as the rest of the squad was left glancing between the two of them, wondering what on Remnant was going on. Then Bounty nodded tightly, his eyes glittering and his voice unusually fragile as he croaked, "Thank you."

Jasmine stayed for a while, listening to the group trade stories about how they'd spend their leave before they were inevitably called back to the base. It felt good to talk with the others, Jaune realised—really good. No threat of imminent death, no world-threatening adversary looming just around the corner—just chatting, as friends should do. Jaune realised that these moments might be the thing he'd miss most if he took up Ozpin's offer and returned to Beacon.

Eventually, Finn informed them that he and Jasmine had a dinner scheduled for this evening, which they needed to get ready for. Finn had left with a last promise to see them all back at base. Jaune had felt a slight pang at that. Would he ever be returning to the base?

Once Finn had gone, the squad gradually dispersed, leaving in dribs and drabs, until only Jaune and Phil were left. Jaune was still deep in thought, his mind awhirl with what to do, yet with no clear answers presenting themselves.

"You ok, Jaune?" asked Phil, noting his indecision.

Jaune sighed. "Not really," he admitted. "I've got an important decision to make, but I don't know what to do. It feels like I'll hurt friends no matter what I choose."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," mumbled Phil sympathetically.

"What do I do, Phil?" Jaune asked, turning to his first friend in the army, with his shaggy, overgrown matt-black hair and his nervous attitude.

"I dunno," he admitted. "And I can't make the decision for you. But… sometimes… sometimes you just have to do things for yourself, y'know? Forget about other people. Just do what makes you happy."

Phil wasn't looking at Jaune as he said that. Jaune followed his gaze into the middle-distance, towards the cemetery entrance, where he spotted a young woman with a blue bob haircut watching the two of them. It wasn't Naomi, whose hair was spikier, though something about the woman was familiar enough to tug at the back of Jaune's brain. She looked a bit like… Phil.

Phil began to trail up the pathway towards the woman, and hesitantly Jaune followed. It was only when Phil reached the gate that he turned around, as if only just noticing Jaune was following him, and quietly said, "This is Bea. She's my sister."

Jaune glanced at Bea, a straight-backed woman whose stony eyes seemed to guard vast caverns of intelligence behind them. She nodded once to him, then turned back to Phil. "Ready to go?"

"Yup," confirmed Phil, hefting his backpack.

"Go?" inquired Jaune. "Go where?"

Phil smiled sadly to him. "I'm going to find my teammates. The ones from Beacon. I've spoken to Bea and she agrees. We need to make things right with them."

"But… what about the section?" Jaune asked.

"Don't worry, I'm coming back. My sister's got five months leave to find them. Plenty of time. They've got to be somewhere on Remnant. How many places does that even leave?"

"Um, a lot?"

Phil's smile twisted into a wince. "Ok, true. But I've got to at least try to do this. Even if I fail, at least I gave it my best shot. You get it, don't you?"

"I… I think so," said Jaune. "I guess this is goodbye then." Jaune offered his hand to the older boy. Phil looked at it, then pointedly ignored it as he pulled Jaune into a hug.

"I'll see you soon. Stay safe, Jaune."

"You too, Phil."

Finally, Phil pulled back, hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders, and turned away, following his sister. It was only as he was about to take a turning out of Jaune's view that he turned around and waved one last time. Then he was gone.

Jaune stared after Phil long after he lost sight of him. It was because Jaune was there for so long that he was present when a blond-haired stranger entered the graveyard. Jaune spotted him out of the corner of his eye, a tall, lanky man with greasy blond locks. Jaune wouldn't have paid much heed to him, except for one feature that stood out stark enough to garner his attention.

The man had only one arm.

He walked through the graveyard until he reached Terry's stone. There he stopped, staring at the grave for a long moment, unmoving, before slowly, precisely, as if he had performed the action a thousand times, he raised his remaining arm, opened his fingers until they were all straight, and put his hand to his temple. He was saluting Terry's grave.

Jaune smiled to himself. It might have taken everything Terry had, but in the end, he'd made his father proud. He hoped he knew that, wherever he was.

Jaune turned away from the scene, allowing the man some privacy. He pulled out his scroll and went to his contacts, pulling up a familiar number. There was one more group of people that Jaune wanted to see again. The number rang once, twice, three times. On the fourth it was picked up.

"Hey Pyr…" began Jaune.

* * *

Jaune sat on a bench in a nearby park, the gentle sun warming his skin, the crisp breeze playing with his hair, and his nerves utterly frying themselves. Jaune had faced guns and fire and death, but none of those had produced such anxiety in him as this. He was about to meet his old team again. Despite the fact that he'd returned to Vale over a week ago, he'd been so busy at the base with the military that he'd had no time to meet up with them, and non-military personnel, even Huntsmen, were barred from entering the compound. Now, that was to change.

Jaune glanced at his scroll again, checking if he had any new texts from them. There was nothing, just as there'd been nothing the million other times he'd checked in the last twenty minutes. He hastily put it back and stuffed his hands into his pockets, trying to halt their shaking. Despite their confirmation that they'd meet him here, Jaune's treacherous imagination refused to stop harassing him with scenarios where they didn't turn up, or simply forgot about him, or had better things to be doing with their free time.

Jaune took a deep breath and tried to sooth his racing heart. They would come, he tried to assure himself. And if they didn't, he'd… he had no idea what he'd do if they didn't. Go home, he supposed. He really wasn't very good at this whole 'comforting himself' thing.

Finally, after what felt like an eon of waiting, Jaune spotted a mess of black hair, a blob of ginger, and a crown of red appear down the path. Jaune leapt to his feet, then realised they were too far away so sat back down, then clambered back to his feet when he found his blood pressure was too high to allow him to sit.

The trio of hair types came closer, slowly materialising into people. Jaune's heart was a caged bird in his chest, fluttering madly for release as his eyes fell on his teammates for the first time in what felt like years. For an instant, Jaune doubted himself, suddenly all too aware of the last time they'd seen each other, when he'd allowed himself to be bullied into throwing a jar of sap at Pyrrha. Surely they couldn't have forgotten that? What if they were still bitter about it? What if a part of them still despised him?

These thoughts were a rampant hurricane in Jaune's mind, tearing through whatever confidence he might have had. The three of them finally came close enough to make out their features, so familiar that Jaune felt a burning sensation in his heart, the pain that of realising how much had been stolen from him by the injustice of the fates. Jaune opened his mouth, apologies falling over themselves to escape his mouth. "Guys, I'm so—Ooof!"

Jaune gasped as the air was punched out of his lungs by a rocket. He gazed downwards, expecting to find a gaping hole in his chest.

Instead he found Nora.

She clutched his chest like a drowning man clutched a float, arms pressing vices around his back, face squashed against his chest, tears turning the material damp where flesh met fabric. For a moment, Jaune was too stunned to do anything. "I missed you," Nora sobbed into his shirt.

"I missed you too," broke Jaune, hands coming around to hug Nora back. The two stayed like that for a long time, until finally Nora stood back, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and sniffing loudly, but smiling all the same.

Next came Ren, stepping forward and hugging him lightly. "It's been too long, Jaune."

"It has," he choked. "It really has."

And last came Pyrrha.

Jaune's heart fluttered in his chest as he took in long legs, covered partly by a knee-length black skirt, then a torso and arms clad in a cute, peach cardigan, and finally a face, one he'd thought he'd never see again. "Pyr…" He didn't get any further.

Pyrrha stepped forward and silently wrapped her arms around his chest, enveloping him in an embrace. It wasn't hard, panicky, like Nora's had been, an instinctual attempt to grasp onto what had been lost and to keep hold against the battering storm of the world. Nor was it like Ren's, a moment of shared contact, of solidarity and brotherhood against whatever nightmares both had been forced to endure. No, Pyrrha's hug was gentle but firm, her hands lying flat against his back, feeling his clothing, feeling him, as if she just wanted to assure herself that this really was real, that Jaune really had returned to them. Jaune did the same, breathing deeply through his nose as he staved off tears, letting the sweet aroma of his partner roam up his nostrils—it was the smell of Autumn, of falling leaves and crisp air, a veritable palette of fragrances like the palette of reds and golds and browns that accompanied the season.

Jaune might have stayed like that for a minute, or an hour, or even a year, holding onto Pyrrha as if he might never let go, but eventually their embrace had to end. He took a step back, taking in his team before him, all so similar to how he remembered them, all slightly different from their time apart. For a moment, Jaune was afraid his heart would erupt with the happiness he felt then.

Instead, he laughed. It was the culmination of weeks of worry proven wrong, of long nights fretting without cause. The tension that had been building in Jaune's chest had finally burst, and up it bubbled, until it reached his mouth and was finally released in one, clear chuckle. The others began laughing too, as if it were an infectious bug, cackles spreading through the group faster than any disease ever could.

If there were any awkwardness before, the laughter finally broke it. Jaune joined his friends, and the four of them spent the rest of the day together. They strolled through the park chatting amiably as they caught each other up on their experiences in their time apart. They found a restaurant in Vale for lunch, where Nora animatedly recounted a tale of her epic battle against the largest Death Stalker Remnant had ever seen, slain by yours truly, of course. They went bowling in the afternoon, they walked around Vale in the evening, but mostly they just talked, trying their best to make up for lost time.

Finally, just as the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, Ren and Nora were forced to excuse themselves, explaining that they had lessons early the next morning. Jaune too, decided it was pretty late, and he ought to be getting back too. He was staying in a cheap hotel he'd found to allow him to be closer to the city for a while, after which he planned to return to his home village to see his family again.

"I'll go with you," offered Pyrrha. "I don't have any lessons tomorrow morning." A slight blush crept across her face. "I mean, that is, if you'd like me to."

Jaune smiled. "I'd like that."

Jaune and Pyrrha strolled through the darkening streets of Vale together, watching as street lamps flickered to life along their path and strangers scurried home, a hot meal and a warm bed consuming their minds. Most stores were closed by this hour, and those that weren't tended to be pubs and nightclubs, their owners strolling through the bright interiors with a skip in their step, the day only just beginning for them. The two of them passed a junction, and in the break between the buildings Jaune spotted the glassy surface of the sea blinking back at him. He paused, and Pyrrha turned with an eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"Let's go down by the docks," Jaune suggested, suddenly wanting their walk to take longer than it should have done. Pyrrha nodded, and the two of them made their way to the waterfront. As they walked, Jaune said, "I never actually thanked you for saving Vale."

"It wasn't just me. And I couldn't have done it without your tip off."

"And Cinder…?"

"Dead," said Pyrrha, the word clipped enough for Jaune to know Pyrrha didn't want to talk about it right now. Maybe not ever. Jaune understood that feeling.

So instead he tried to ask a less personal question. "How's team RWBY?"

"Doing well. Weiss is still kicking herself for allowing Emerald to escape though. You'd have sworn she'd been responsible for the fall of Vale with the way she scolds herself."

Jaune smirked. He could more than imagine Weiss storming through the halls of Beacon, cursing and chiding her failed efforts. She always did set such high standards for herself. "Who's Emerald?"

"One of Cinder's protegees. Her semblance was illusions. Once she realised the day was lost she grabbed her partner and ran. As far as I know they're still on the run. Though wherever they are, I doubt they'll be a threat again." Pyrrha paused to think more on it, then she half turned to Jaune with a small smile splayed on her face. "Blake's a Faunus by the way."

"No!" gasped Jaune. Pyrrha nodded. Jaune cast his mind back to the few times he'd hung out with Blake. He remembered the bookworm had been quiet, reserved, an enigma wrapped inside a mystery, but he was sure he'd never seen any Faunus traits on her. No tail, no scales, only a bow on her head—

Oh. Ohhhhhhh.

Jaune slapped his forehead. "I'm an idiot."

Pyrrha giggled. "In your defence, it fooled me too."

The two finally reached the docks. The sun had set by now, and the cold was beginning to creep in like a layer of frost, made worse by the open water, from which an icy wind bit at their clothing. Jaune didn't mind the cold too much, but Pyrrha pulled her cardigan tighter around her, and for a moment Jaune was worried she'd want to turn back. "We can go back if you like."

"No, it's alright. The view is worth the cold." Jaune had to agree. The sun was gone, but the golden light still crept over the horizon, staining the sky a myriad of varying colours, from deepest navy to richest reds, the shades bleeding into each other like the finest water colour. Below the sky and mirroring the endless mosaic was a horizon of water, placid and still, with only the smallest of ripples disturbing the glassy surface. Tiny boats bobbed far out to sea, looking to all the world like toys in the boundless bathtub of the planet, whilst seagulls swooped and soared on invisible winds, cawing in ecstasy at the freedom only they could grasp.

The sight was worthy of any postcard, and for a minute, Jaune could only stare. Numbly, his legs took his body towards a nearby bench facing the water, and he sat down gingerly, worried any sudden movements might ruin the moment. Pyrrha joined him, perching herself lightly on the edge of the bench, her knee halting just short of touching Jaune's, and her hand coming to rest in the space between them. Jaune had never been more aware of every millimetre of space between them. Had he really never noticed how stunning Pyrrha was? How beautiful the line of her neck, how endearing the errant red strands blowing in the wind that Jaune was desperate to brush aside. He wanted to reach over and take her pale hand in his own. He wanted to so badly it hurt, but he kept his arm pinned unforgivingly to his side. He wasn't even sure if he was going to stay with Pyrrha. It wouldn't be fair to start something if he couldn't see it through.

Pyrrha was still looking out at the water, unaware of Jaune's mental struggle. Then, quite unexpectedly, she said, "Jaune… there's a reason I wanted to walk you home. There's something I need to tell you."

"Ok…" Jaune gulped, suddenly very worried what she'd say to him. "Couldn't you have said this with Ren and Nora around?"

"No, they wouldn't understand. I need to ask you, because you might be the only one who's been through what I have."

Now Jaune was curious. Pyrrha's tone was subdued, and she wouldn't look at him. What could she want to talk about to him and only him?

Pyrrha took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, before she asked, "Do you believe in destiny?"

Jaune blinked, unsure where this had come from. "Destiny? Like, fate? I… I don't really know… Why do you ask?"

Pyrrha released a shaky breath, looking down at her lap. "During the Breach, I fought Cinder. I… I killed her." Pyrrha's voice hitched up, forcing her to stop. Jaune immediately put an arm around her, pulling her in to him as he rubbed soothing circles into her back. In an instant, he knew exactly why Pyrrha needed to talk to him about this. Ren and Nora had killed Grimm, but that was it. Pyrrha and Jaune however… they'd killed people. There was blood on their hands that wasn't there on Ren and Nora's, a black splotch on each of their souls that they might never be able to be rid of. And Pyrrha thought that maybe, just maybe, Jaune would have the answers she so desperately wanted for the questions she couldn't stop asking.

The answers Jaune didn't have the heart to tell Pyrrha he was still looking for too.

"Hey, hey, it's alright," Jaune cooed, holding Pyrrha against her chest as tears slid free of her eyes and were absorbed by his shirt. "You did what you had to do to save Vale."

"I know, I know," Pyrrha murmured into his chest, finally regaining control of her voice to continue talking. "I just… Ozpin told me a bit about Cinder. She grew up on the streets. She was forced to do unspeakable things as a child… she had no power over her life, so when she grew up it became the only thing she cared about. I'm not saying what she did was right, but I can't help but wonder… if Cinder had grown up differently… if she'd been shown even an ounce of human decency, maybe she wouldn't have done what she did. Maybe she wouldn't have had to die." Pyrrha pulled away from the hug to look up at Jaune, tears staining her green eyes. "Cinder had no control of her life. From the moment she was born, she was destined to become evil, through no fault of her own. Her fate led her down that path, and there was nothing she could do about it. Meanwhile, destiny has blessed me with a good life, family, friends, talents, gifts, all things I've taken for granted my entire life. Why is that? Why me?"

Jaune tried to slot this new revelation into his understanding of the woman who had attacked Vale. At first Cinder had been a name. Then an enemy. Then a monster. But now… now he was forced to consider her as a person. "This has been bugging you a lot, hasn't it?"

"Every night, I see her eyes. I see the fear in them as she dies. I see the humanity. And every night, I can't help but wonder… if the roles had been reversed, if it'd been me born on the streets… would it have been me dead on the top of Beacon tower?"

Pyrrha was looking up at Jaune, guilt and desperation warring in her eyes. She was pleading with him to answer her unanswerable questions, to say something that would magically make everything better again. But he couldn't. There wasn't an answer that would fix everything, or if there was he didn't know it. Pyrrha had taken a life—she would never be able to shake that, just as Jaune would never be able to shake the faces that swam through his nightmares too. The questions she asked now, Jaune had been asking himself the exact same ones endlessly, and he still didn't have an answer. Maybe he never would.

But there was one question he could answer.

"No," he stated. Pyrrha glanced at him, confusion written on her features. "You asked me if I believed in destiny. Well the answer's no. I don't." For a time, maybe Jaune had. He'd been kicked down by the universe so often that it had simply been easier to think that this was his fate, that his life was out of his hands.

It had all been a lie.

Jaune had begun to accept that his legacy was to fail because he was tired of getting back up again. Of continuing to fight in spite of his loses. For a time, he'd fallen so deep into despair that he'd been willing to never try again.

Phil had snapped him out of that mindset. He'd reminded Jaune of why he fought, why the universe could knock him down again and again and again, a million time over, and why he'd get up a million and one times to keep fighting. Jaune had had help, true, but ultimately, he had chosen to keep fighting. Destiny hadn't gotten him back up; he had.

"We all make choices in our lives," he continued, "and it's those choices that make us who we are. Maybe our scenarios make certain decisions harder than others. Maybe sometimes they make doing the wrong thing easier. But we always have that choice." Jaune rotated fully to face Pyrrha, letting her see the truth in his eyes. "Cinder chose to follow the path she did. Maybe she was set down it by her childhood, but there would have been opportunities to get off it. She didn't. You would. That's what makes you different to Cinder. Not your upbringing, but the choices you make. When you heard Vale was under threat, you didn't run. You put yourself at risk to try to save a city full of strangers."

"I had to."

"No, you didn't. You could have run. You could have left it to the authorities and hidden until it had all passed. You didn't. Then, when you learnt a very dangerous individual who had already beaten you once was on her way to Beacon, you went after her despite having almost no aura left."

"Anyone would hav—"

"That's not true. Don't diminish what you've done. Sometimes running from your problems is easier than facing them. I know that." It had been running from what he'd done that had started this whole adventure. "You chose to do the right thing, even though it was harder. That makes you a good person, and that's why you wouldn't have done the same thing as Cinder in her position." Jaune stopped, suddenly realising he was out of things to say. He looked to Pyrrha to gauge her reaction, only to find her looking out to sea, her eyes glazed slightly. Then a small sigh escaped her, some tension seeping from her body along with her breath.

"Thank you, Jaune. I needed that." Jaune nodded back, pleased to have helped Pyrrha in some small way. "So what's next for you?"

"I… I don't know," Jaune admitted. Then he decided to take a risk. "Ozpin's offered me my place back on the team. I know that sounds great," he added when he saw Pyrrha's joyful expression, "and it is. It really is. But if I rejoin you guys, it means—"

"You'll have to leave your section," Pyrrha realised. Jaune nodded glumly. Caught between a rock and a hard place. One team or the other, and no matter what he chose he'd be burning bridges and breaking hearts. Pyrrha was silent for a while, but then she said, "Jaune… I want you to be happy. So do Ren and Nora. If you want to stay with your section, we'll fully support that."

"But what about you guys? I only just reconnected with you."

"We'll always be friends. That won't change because you decide to pursue a different career. You need to make this decision based on what you want, not on what we want."

What he wanted. That was the second person now who had told Jaune to do what he wanted. But what did he want? Did he want to be with his old friends, or his new ones? The life of a soldier, or a Huntsman? Team JNPR, or Beta section?

Maybe the question went deeper than that. What did Jaune Arc want out of life? He didn't want fame or glory—at least not anymore. He also wanted to help people. Help civilians, yes, but also the people around him. The people he cared about. Who then, needed him most?

Team JNPR had lasted without him; they'd been able to keep themselves going despite losing their leader, leaning on each other and team RWBY to fill the void he'd left. If he did so again, they'd manage. They were all stronger than he'd ever be.

But Beta section? They'd already lost so much: their first sergeant, their friends, their brother, their mobility. Could they survive losing him as well? Did he want them to have to go through that?

And suddenly, everything became much clearer. Jaune Arc didn't know what he wanted; but he knew what he didn't want. And that was to let his section suffer anything else alone. They'd lost friends. They'd seen death. They'd felt hope drain from their body like blood drained from a corpse. But they'd always done it together.

" _Keep them safe, Jaune."_ That had been some of Sergeant Cole's last words. Maybe he'd known, even back then, how much they'd need him in the coming weeks. Maybe he'd known how much Jaune would need them.

"Pyr…" began Jaune, "I think I know what I need to do."

* * *

Ozpin glanced up from the sheet of paper in his hands. "You're quite sure of this?" he inquired.

"I am," replied Jaune Arc, sitting once more across his desk from him.

"I see," replied Ozpin, skimming through the contract before him. On the top right-hand corner was the seal of the Valesian military, and down at the bottom, resting above a dotted line, was Jaune's signature. "If I may ask, what convinced you to discontinue your pursuits to become a Huntsman?"

"The world needs heroes. But for Huntsmen and Huntresses… it's got that covered," answered Jaune, smiling slightly. "They don't need me. The army on the other hand…"

"Is in dire need of good men, or so I hear," smiled Ozpin. "Very well then. I wish you all the best. Goodbye, Sergeant Arc."

"I'm not a Sergeant anymore," corrected Jaune, before he rose from his chair and left Ozpin's office for what might be the last time ever.

Now alone in his clockwork tower, Ozpin steepled his fingers and hummed to himself. "Indeed, you aren't." It seemed a great shame, really. The boy had proven himself resilient, capable, compassionate, and an excellent strategist, all qualities denoting a good leader. It was almost a crime to let such talent waste away if Jaune were to remain a Private. Some might have even called it a hindrance to the work of the military. In that sense, it would be beneficial to the army if Jaune were promoted ahead of his time, and as a good citizen of Vale, it was Ozpin's duty to support the armed forces in whatever way he could.

Ozpin leant over his desk, picking up a pre-printed sheet of paper and writing something at the bottom. Then he took a second piece of paper and wrote on that too. Finally, he held the two pieces up before him and smiled at his handiwork. One was a legal document accepting Jaune Arc back into Beacon as a student. The second was a transfer sheet of one Jaune Arc from Beacon Academy directly into the military. If Ozpin recalled correctly—and he did have a stellar memory—the army had a policy of promoting recruits from Huntsmen academies directly to sergeants. What a convenient policy for Ozpin's desires.

Satisfied, Ozpin put the two sheets down and settled back into his chair, bringing a mug of steaming coffee to his lips, from which he took a long, well-deserved sip. "Good luck to you," he murmured, "Sergeant Arc."

* * *

Jaune Arc marched through the bustling base, a brand-new sergeant rank slide gleaming on his chest as soldiers made way to him in deference, before hurrying back on their paths like impatient bees. It was still taking some getting used to, watching men far older than himself rush to give way to him, but such was the way of the military life he'd rejoined.

It wasn't long before he was met by a soldier going the opposite direction to him. This soldier was larger than most, and he didn't bow his head and avert his eyes either. Instead, he simply nodded once to Jaune, greeting him with a crisp, "Sergeant Arc."

"Field Sergeant Winchester," Jaune greeted back.

"New batch of recruits arrived last night. Can't wait to have a bit of fun with them. Command's told me I can oversee their training."

Jaune winced. "Go easy on them."

"And risk leaving them underprepared for what's out there? Not a chance," Cardin grinned, his eyes ignited in joyful anticipation. Gone was the nastiness that had once accompanied every word he'd drawled at Jaune, gone the mean, pig eyes and the ferret sneer. Ever since returning from Salem's domain, Cardin had gone above and beyond to change his ways. Sometimes he still slipped up; sometimes he couldn't stop a jibed comment slipping off the end of his barbed tongue or a dismissive huff when he spotted a Faunus. But he was trying to change. That made Cardin better in Jaune's eyes than all the other racists and bigots that littered the four Kingdoms.

"I'll see you around, Cardin."

"You too, Jaune."

Jaune continued on his way, boots crunching on gravel as he approached a stout, grey building. As per usual, the army was sorely lacking in the aesthetics department, this particular eyesore resembling a squat and grumpy gnome, surrounded by other misanthropic dwarves, all forced to sit eternally within a drab garden of grumbling dreariness.

Jaune had to admit, it was beginning to grow on him a bit.

Jaune stepped up to the oversized garden decoration and pushed open the door, striding in and calling out, "Room, room 'tion!" The inhabitants of the room were as disorganised as the day he'd first met them all. Bounty and Finn were sitting on either side of a table, their elbows resting on the plastic top as their arms bulged and sweat poured from their faces, their two appendages locked in a deadly struggle for dominance as they tried to wrestle the other to the ground. Around them stood a barking, braying crowd of three, screaming for blood as they alternately cheered their champion and jeered their enemy. In Cat's balled fist was a wad of lien, and she screamed Bounty on with a fury that only one with money on the line could produce.

Aiden was the first to notice Jaune's entrance, a feat in itself with all the noise, his eyes widening in panic and his tail speeding up to a furious wag as he leapt away from the crime scene and to the foot of his bed, coming to stand at attention all in one smooth motion. The others weren't so lucky. Finnegan reared upwards upon seeing his sergeant, his knee flying upwards and upending the table, sending the top flying into Bounty's face, which in turn toppled the mountainous man onto the floor with a spectacular crash. Cat and Naomi glanced down at their friend and ally struggling on the floor, collectively deciding that the greater good demanded that they abandon him at once. As they turned tail and fled though, several cards of lien slipped out of Cat's hand, catching Finn's eye, who decided dignity was overrated anyway as he launched himself after them, coming to an unceremonious heap atop Bounty, now spitting obscenities at everyone, everyone's mothers, and everyone's mothers' mothers.

So it was that Sergeant Arc, leader of Beta section, found his squad scattered around the room, nursing bruised limbs and cradling hurt pride as they sheepishly met the eyes of their sergeant. It was chaotic. It was undignified. It was them. Sergeant Arc threw back his head and laughed loudly, feeling his chest shake at the mirth that poured out of him.

He was exactly where he wanted to be.

* * *

 **Thirteen months. Twenty-nine chapters. A whopping 220,000 words on my Word document, at least half of which will never see the light of day. One epic story.**

 **It's been an absolute blast, and to anyone who's gone through it all to read this line, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.**

 **You know, I've always wanted to do an acknowledgements page. But I always found them a bit boring. Let's see if I can spice this up a little…**

 **To Natasha, who fist introduced me to fanfiction and created something the world wasn't ready for; I hope you realise this makes you Frankenstein in the analogy.**

 **To Matis, who helped me create Terry, then bugged me for over a year about whether he was still alive or not: Ha!**

 **To Chey, who gifted me with her wonderful brain children, Cat, Naomi, Aiden and Buzz, then watched me brutally murder them like the internet version of Walder Frey. I'm sorry to say I'm unapologetically not sorry for being sorry about chapter 11.**

 **To my good friend the anarchist/communist/what-political-ideology-you-have-this-week Joshua, who Beta-read my first few chapters, hated them, then tried to wiggle out of reading any others. You're not getting that free lunch I promised you.**

 **To Noble, who convinced me to write another fanfic, and without whom this story wouldn't exist. People always say we create the very things that usurp us ;)**

 **And finally, to all you gorgeous people, whose lives are so empty you had to fill the time with this steaming pile of shite fanfic. To have read this far, you're all either insane, so devoid of entertainment that this passes off as actual enjoyment, or a bit of both. Never change.**

 **So what's next? I've absolutely no idea. I'm gonna take a break from writing, at least for a bit. I doubt I'll be able to stay away forever though. I might try Beta-reading for a bit, see how that goes, before I start writing another story. What that story will be though is anyone's guess. If you've enjoyed my writing, maybe you could drop a suggestion you'd like to see me write about. Should I do a sequel to Sergeant Arc? Should I write about Phil's adventure to refind his team with Bea? Or are you sick to death of OCs and want me to write a normal fic with a bunch of normal canon characters like some sort of normally-functioning human being? Please let me know, even if it's just a character or an idea you'd like to see me do.**

 **But apart from all that, its time for me to say: adiós, auf Wiedersehen, au revoir, ciao, see ya, wouldn't-want-to-be-ya, good day and a very good night, and a great big fat BYE!**

* * *

" _Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."_

 _Winston Churchill_


End file.
